Chapter Thirty-One
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SUMMARY: The Kings explore a spot for private getaways, and Thranduil tests out a theory, then makes some plans for the upcoming holidays.
Daeron learns a bit more about the solemn Marchwarden, who gives him some good advice.
And... LETTERS FROM LOTHLORIEN!
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"…There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover's whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad."
― Homer, The Iliad
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City of Dale, 25th of November 2942 T.A.
Once everyone got through the first anniversary of the Battle, everyone returned to their duties with renewed dedication, vowing to appreciate the sacrifice of those who had gone before.
The Harad children were doing well, so far. Adila and Indis had them quickly settled into a busy routine, and while they were careful to honor the children's heritage, they also set forth to teach them about the varying cultures and languages of the North, in hopes that these few children might, in a ripple effect, make a positive change in relations between the Harad and other countries.
The children especially loved it when King Thranduil came to see them! He had told them that the white walls of their big Common Room were much too plain, and asked if they would like to make it more colorful. He brought them a book of animals, and let the children select what they liked, then drew the outlines of all kinds of animals, trees, houses, and grass, wherever they wanted. Over the next several weeks, the Elvenking arrived with the Prince and Princesses (dressed in old clothes) and they all helped the children to fill in the lines. By the time everyone stepped back to admire the menagerie, they all were covered in paint with happy smiles in their faces.
Two days after the Remembrance Services was a cold day, but clear and sunny, with no wind. Bard showed up at the door of Thranduil's study, and asked him to take the afternoon off.
"Come on, love," Bard told his husband. "I feel like a ride; and it's a nice day."
"Why not?" Thranduil put down his pen and screwed the top on his inkwell. We have been much occupied of late, and would be nice to take a few hours and enjoy the fair weather."
They went to their room to change into riding clothes, then to the stables to saddle up Fînlossen and Naurmôr and rode out of the South Gate and headed for the forest.
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After about an hour, they came upon the small abandoned cottage in the thick of the woods, which was probably used by a huntsman before the Dragon came.
"It's still hard to picture Dale's other life." Bard mused. "I've got Elves to bring us game, but before that, Girion and his ancestors ran things a lot differently."
"I am glad you do not try to emulate him, Bard. Do not misunderstand me; he was an admirable, strong Man and a very good King, but each reign must adapt to the world around them. Problems Girion had to face, were solved by the time you came to the Throne. His father solved problems for him, only to make way for new ones. 'Be where you are at,' was a saying I have heard often from the folk in Dale, then and now."
"I've heard that, too." Bard breathed in the clear air with a sigh. "I love how quiet it is out here."
"Come," Thranduil said with a smile. "Let us go inside."
They dismounted, and took careful steps on the rotted front porch, then creaked open the door. Clearly, it had been hardly disturbed, and dust was everywhere. A window in the back was shuttered, and when they opened it, they found the glass missing.
"Frankly, I'm surprised this hasn't been taken over by bandits or something."
"It is hard to say. Since we came to Dale last year, my Guardians have made sure to keep it undisturbed."
"It looks like it was a cozy house at one point," Bard looked wistfully at the structure. "Stars, wouldn't this be would be a great place to escape to, when 'Kinging' gets to be too much? Can you imagine us living here? With no responsibilities beyond catching fish for our supper, and chopping wood for the fire… bathing in the river… I could be really happy here."
"For a few days," Thranduil smiled. "Then I think we would miss our children."
"Aye," Bard sighed. "Still… those few days would be wonderful…" he looked at his Elf with a gleam in his eyes.
"Bard…" Thranduil tilted his head, "You must be joking; this place is riddled with dust and filth!"
Bard walked toward him and took off his gloves, then his cloak. "You know you love it when I speak Sindarin…"
"Bard –"
"Ídhron gi phuithad, Meleth nîn."
"But we have no…"
"We'll manage. Ídhron cened i chent gîn n'i gellog."
Thranduil grinned. "You are incorrigible."
"That's what you love about me." Bard reached for Thranduil, then whispered. "Let's pretend we're ordinary people with no burdens or responsibilities, except to ourselves."
Before Thranduil could protest (which he really didn't want to do) Bard's mouth was on his, his tongue was in his mouth, and his hands were fisted in his hair.
Thranduil took off his cloak and spread in on the floor, and wrestled them down to lie facing each other. He frantically undid the lacings of Bard's leggings and took hold of the hard cock and began to massage it.
"Aaaah…" Bard hissed, and threw his head back and groaned, before he quickly got to work on his husband's clothes, then wrapped his hand around the Elf's smooth cock.
"Ai!" Thranduil yelped, and jerked away. "Ring mâblín mae!Your hands are cold, Bard!"
"Oops!" Bard snickered, then he brought his hands up and blew on them. "Sorry. I don't feel it so much anymore; I didn't realize."
"Here. Let me," Thranduil pulled Bard closer and reached down and wrapped his hands around them both. The Elf began to stroke them together, touching all the right places to bring them pleasure, and soon they were thrusting and panting. Bard put his hands over Thranduil's and kissed him hard as their thrusts became more and more urgent.
"Ah… I'm gonna come, love…" Bard whimpered, and buried his face in Thranduil's neck.
"Yes, Meleth… do it. Come for me…" Then Thranduil bit his ear, which sent him over the edge, with a growl, then Bard sucked on the tips of the Elf's ear, which made him come with a loud cry.
"Oh, boy," Bard sighed, as he melted into his Elf. "We are definitely fixing this place up…" Listen to the quiet, love. No bustling outside our door, no voices calling… No Kings," he kissed Thranduil's throat. "just two people who can't get enough of each other."
"It is wonderful." Thranduil's eyes were closed.
"Winter will slow things down, and we should make the time to do the work ourselves, if we can." Bard kissed him on the nose and grinned. "I miss working with my hands, and this could be our private getaway. Remember when we said we should try to sneak away once a month, just to lie around naked? We need to keep doing that, to get back to each other."
"Then that is what we shall do." Thranduil arranged himself to sit up, and reached into his pocket to clean themselves off.
And there was no handkerchief. Not one. He checked all his pockets, but no luck.
"Oh, don't tell me…" Bard's eyes widened incredulously. "The one time we could really use one?" He burst into laughter.
Thranduil raised his brow. "Is that not fitting? Here, we are nothing extraordinary, and have no such luxuries as servants to do for us."
Bard sat up, removed his leggings then his smalls, and handed them over. "Hilda's gonna kill me…"
"I will not tear them, this time." Thranduil accepted the cloth and cleaned himself.
Bard rolled his underpants in a ball and stuffed it into the pocket of his coat before they dressed, then Bard did his best to brush the dirt off his Elf's cloak. "We should've used mine. If we tried to say you fell, no one would believe it, but they'd have no trouble picturing me with my arse in the dirt."
They closed the door behind them as best they could, then stepped off the porch, as Thranduil closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sky.
"The trees are happy here," he said, reverently. "They sing a beautiful song."
"I wish I could hear it." Bard said wistfully.
Thranduil looked at his husband intently. "Bard? Did you know that your ancestor, Garon the Founder was the youngest sibling of the Prince of Dol Amroth?" 1
"Aye. It was in the book you gave me on the History of Dale. The one you wrote ages ago, remember?"
"And did you also know that the firstPrince of Dol Amroth was Galador? Whose mother was Mithrellas?"
"No." Bard shrugged. "What of it?"
"Mithrellas was an Elf." 2
"What are you saying?"
"Perhaps nothing. There is no question that whatever Elven blood was in your line has been diluted to minuscule proportions, but you are also my husband," he tilted his head, "and things are different for you…"
Thranduil took his hand and led him over to a nearby tree. "You have discovered you are stronger, more agile, and your sight and hearing are now miraculous, Bard. You also discovered you have a Healing gift. Do you not remember?" [3]
"Right, so…"
"Put your hands on this tree. Take off your gloves, and put them on its trunk."
Bard did as he was told, and soon found Thranduil at his back, with the Elf's hands over his.
"Now, close your eyes, and quiet yourself, Meleth nîn." Thranduil whispered. "Deep breaths and bring yourself to a quiet, peaceful place inside…."
Bard took several slow deep breaths, as he pictured the quiet, clean of these woods…
Then it happened.
A tingle, but not. A sensation, but then again, not that either, really...
The tree waved its branches, though there was no wind.
Then Bard felt something like words, but not words…
Greetings, my friend…
"HOLY SHIT BALLS!"Bard squealed. His eyes flew open, and he jumped back so hard he nearly knocked the Elf over. "That's…" he pointed to the tree with a shaking finger. "It… That…"
"It said hello." Thranduil said, then stepped around him, put his hands back on the tree and said out loud, "Áse apsene, nilmo. Nán Thranduil ar veru ná Bard."
"What did you say?" Bard ran his hands through his hair.
"I just told it you meant no harm, and introduced ourselves." He turned and grinned at the Bowman. "You did not want it to think you were calling it a filthy name, did you?"
"Sorry. I just…"
"I know." Thranduil tried not to laugh. "Would you like to try it again?"
"Could we?"
"See if you can do it yourself, without me."
Bard did as the Elf instructed, but he could barely sense anything. "I think I'm too nervous. Or maybe I need to do it with you, I don't know."
"That is fine. We will do it together."
They repeated the process, and this time, Bard tried keep himself under control, as he and Thranduil 'linked' with the tree and he got used to the sensation. He could 'sense' the tree, and heard a music unlike anything he'd imagined. It was beautiful.
By the time they took their hands down, Bard's eyes were teary. "I'm sorry," he laughed and wiped them. "That was… Stars, I can't explain it."
"Few can, Meleth nîn." Thranduil took him in his arms.
"I just…" the Bowman said, into his neck. "Thank you."
"I am happy for you, Bard."
"I'm happy for us, love." Bard sniffed. "I know you've talked about all this, but… I feel like I've discovered a whole new side of you!"
"And to yourself, as well." Thranduil smiled into his hair. "That is very exciting."
"It's a gift," his throat tightened, as he held his Elf tighter. "You… are such a gift, Thranduil."
"As you are to me. I love you, Bard."
"I love you back."
"I wish we could stay here." Bard sighed. "But duty calls. I suppose our Guards are in a panic, wondering what became of us."
"They know exactly where we are," the Elf raised his brow, then looked to the treetops. "It is their job to be unseen and silent. We are well-protected, Meleth nîn."
"Good to know." Bard looked up. "Though it's embarrassing to think they know what we got up to in that cabin."
"If they did, they do not care." Thranduil shrugged. "Elves do not think such things are worthy of gossip or speculation, Bard. Guardians do not discuss what they witness, even among themselves, unless there is danger. It is grounds for dismissal, but mostly it is a matter of honor." He took the Bowman's hand. "But you are right, Meleth nîn, we must go back, much as I would like to stay."
They went to their horses, but after Bard mounted Fînlossen,he took his foot from the stirrup so his Elf could sit behind him, and Naurmor could follow. Thranduil wrapped his arms around Bard's waist and nuzzled and kissed his neck as they slowly made their way back through the woods and to their busy lives.
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That night, when they were getting into bed, Thranduil brought up something that he'd been thinking of for a while.
"Have you thought about a Yule Festival for Dale, Bard?"
"No one had energy left over to think of it, to be honest. We should've had a Harvest Festival, especially since we had good crops, but we're all still getting used to things."
"Next year will be different. I had wanted to mention it before, but we got caught up with the refugees and such… I really would like to combine the traditions you celebrated in Laketown, with ours from the Woodland Realm, so that Elves and Men can celebrate together. I think everyone would enjoy it."
"I might be nice. Didn't you have a Festival at your Palace last year?"
"The normal week of Yule was spent negotiating with the Dwarves, then holding the Funeral services outside the Palace. It hardly seemed fitting to celebrate, when so many were mourning."
"Same here, we were busy trying to stay alive, if you remember. Refugee camps don't exactly make things festive." Bard sighed. "But don't think for a minute we weren't grateful for every blessed one of those tents, love."
"I know." The Elf smiled. "And you may also remember a small ceremony in my tent, and a wonderful night in my bedchamber..." he pushed Bard's hair away from his face. "It is almost a year since you and I became one, Hervenn nîn. We were married on December 17th."
"Holy smokes… has it been a year already?" Bard propped his head on his elbow and cupped Thranduil's face. "It seems like moments ago, but forever at the same time."
"If you would permit, I would like to surprise you, for our celebration."
"Go for it. I trust you." Bard kissed his palm. "So… tell me how you celebrate the Winter Solstice in your Kingdom?"
"We call it Turuhalmë, which means, "Log Drawing." Thranduil held Bard, then went on to describe the week-long celebrations, the sleigh rides, the ice skating, the Ball, and best of all, the Telling of Tales in front of the Yule Log, which has been traditional for Elves, since the First Age. 4
"When we were children, Feren and I spent the days playing out in the snow. Even our fathers were out there with us, throwing snowballs and shaping people and animals from the ice and snow. We had no lessons all that week, and it was the only time of year my father refused any royal duties.
"The last day of the Festival was the big Feast, and minstrels would come from faraway lands to for the Tale-Telling. I have many happy memories, sitting on the floor in front of my parents, listening to the Story-Tellers. But my favorite time was the night before, when families gathered in front of their own fires to exchange gifts, and tell their own tales." Thranduil's face glowed with the memory. "That night I had my parents all to myself."
"That sounds beautiful love," Bard kissed his cheek. "We didn't have anything like that in Laketown."
"Bard!" He sat up suddenly, "How can that be! Surely your people did something, did they not?"
"Not really. We had no way to play in the snow -we lived on water - and life under the Master didn't make it easy to afford any feasts."
"No matter." Thranduil decided. "This is a problem with an easy solution. Dale is a new city, and open to new traditions. We will have a Winter Festival, and that is that. I will speak to Hilda and Percy in the morning, and Galion will work with them. It will be done, and it will be something your people will look forward to, every year."
"Just like that?" Bard raised an eyebrow. "Don't forget, the King of Dale must give his consent to all this."
"Perhaps the King of Dale needs a little persuading…" Thranduil grinned, as he trailed his finger lightly down Bard's throat, to his chest, and massaged one of his nipples.
"Mmmm…" Bard smirked. "You're off to a good start. Keep convincing me, Elf."
Thranduil batted his long, black eyelashes at his husband. "Oh… great and powerful King of Dale, will you grant your permission? I will make it worth your while…"
Bard snickered, and began to nuzzle Thranduil's neck. "Would that be a bribe?"
"Would it work?" Thranduil whispered, as he nibbled on Bard's earlobe.
"We'll have to see, won't we?" Bard flopped down and heaved a longsuffering sigh. "Do your worst."
"Oh, but I plan on doing my best, Meleth nîn."
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After a long while, as they both lay side-by-side panting, Thranduil mumbled. "So, may we have a Winter Festival in Dale, My King?"
"Mmmm hmmm" Bard sighed.
So, Dale's annual Winter Celebration was born.
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Lothlórien, 29.thof November 2942 T.A.
Assisted by several bottles of wine, Daeron and Haldir spent the entire night in the Sitting Room talking and sharing what would be the first of many personal conversations. Daeron had the sense the Marchwarden very rarely opened up like this, even to his brothers, and the Guardian felt truly honored, and told him so.
"I have been responsible for my brothers for more years than I can count, so it is difficult for me to step back and remember that I am no longer charged with their care." Haldir huffed a laugh. "Perhaps I never shall, for is that not the price of parenting?"
"My parents still worry, and I doubt that will stop."
"I had great difficulty agreeing to allow Rúmil to leave, and almost did not, until Lord Celeborn called me into his study and spoke to me. He was right to, although I did not want to see it.
"It was I who held him when he cried for our Adar, and then for our Naneth, when she sailed. I also had to help Orophin, because he was… in pieces. He deeply grieved Ada, but for many years, he felt a great deal of anger toward Nana, because she was not strong enough to stay. He refused to even say her name, for a long while."
"When did you have a chance to grieve, Haldir?" Daeron asked him.
"Not for a long time, mellon. Orophin was only 384 years old, and needed patience, and Rúmil was a small child of 23, and constantly needed reassurance. I took a sabbatical from my duties and spent time with them, but even then, I barely managed." The Marchwarden shook his head. "Caring for them distracted me enough, but when they were better…" Haldir took another drink. "It was a hard time."
"Lord Thranduil's mother was taken to the Havens after King Oropher's death. He insisted she go, though she was determined to stay."
"Ai..."Haldir sighed. "It is a common tale, is it not? Too many Elves have lost their lives, leaving a spouse who cannot cope with the grief." He shook his head sadly. "My mother denied it when I saw her deteriorate. Orophin did not understand that kind of grief, then, and of course, Rúmil could not."
"Rúmil idolizes you, Haldir. He spoke a great deal of you, when we met at the Palace."
"He does now, at least." The Marchwarden smiled ruefully. "He was a handful when he was growing up. I often joked that I was glad my hair is so light, for surely, I have many grey hairs from keeping him from harm. He refused to slow down on the walkways here, and fell once, thought thank Eru he was on a lower level."
Daeron winced. "Was he hurt?"
"He broke a leg and his arm, but was soon healed. I made him hold my hand on the walkways for years afterward, though he hated it."
"My cousin Tur and I were a terror in the Palace. My mother is in charge of the kitchens there, and for some reason, I thought I had naturally inherited her skill, so I decided to make a batch of tarts."
"What happened?"
"We set the kitchen on fire. There are still scorch marks on the ceilings, though he and I spent weeks up on a scaffold scrubbing it."
As they laughed, Daeron looked down at his drink. "Thank you, Haldir. I really appreciate this."
"May I tell you something, Daeron?"
"Of course. But only if you wish to."
"Frankly, the idea of loving a child of Men seems foreign to me, and I am still trying to understand the concepts of The Blessing of Eärendil." Haldir swallowed. "But I do understand your feelings. I know what it is to love like that, because I had someone, once."
"I had no idea. What happened?"
The Marchwarden sighed. "Her name was Itaril, and like your Queen, was born in Rivendell. And like you, I felt the power of the Ehtë Raumo when first took her hand."
"What was she like?"
"She was a member of Elrond's Vanguard, and her prowess with the Sword and Dagger were astounding." Haldir grinned. "She even bested me on a regular basis, and that is saying something!"
"It is." Daeron was impressed. "You are an amazing fighter, Mellon."
"She was strong, intelligent, and very beautiful, with her dark hair and turquoise eyes. They fascinated me; sometimes they looked blue, and other times green... We wrote letters back and forth, I would visit when I had time, she would come to Lothlórien when she could.
"We were very much in love, Daeron, and I was about to ask her to marry me, when my father was killed. I became Marchwarden in his place, and had to take on new duties. Then my mother became ill from grief, and had to leave, and suddenly I was parenting brothers, one buried in hurt and anger, and other a very small child!
"Itaril understood, of course, was willing to bide her time, but I was overwhelmed with all of it." He looked at Daeron with sad eyes. "I… did something very foolish, then. Something I have regretted every day of my life since."
Daeron said nothing, as he took the wine bottle poured out another glass for his friend, and waited until he was ready.
After taking a few more sips, the Marchwarden continued. "So many things changed in such a short period of time – and you may have noticed how much I hate change." He gave Daeron a sheepish smile. "I was struggling to cope, and I wrote and told her there was no room in my life for such a relationship when I felt pulled in so many directions at once."
"Perhaps you were afraid of neglecting her."
"I was afraid, Daeron. That was the problem, and I didn't realize it, until it was too late."
"What happened to Itaril?"
"She was among the Guards who escorted Lady Celebrían, when they were attacked by Orcs. All were killed, but Lady Celebrían, who was captured and tormented, nearly to death." 5
"I have heard of that tragedy, but I am ashamed to say I knew nothing of the Guards who died."
"And why would you?" Haldir said bitterly. "There is no list of their names in any written history, except in the hearts of the ones they left behind." The Marchwarden closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "I loved her, Daeron. And it was only after she died that I realized what a fool I had been. A coward and a fool!"
"Why would you say this, Haldir?"
"Because it is true! I never saw her love, our love, for what it was. I only saw it as a task, a burden, yet another thing in my life I had to manage, when I could barely cope with how things had changed. I was selfish, and thought more of my fear than her." Haldir clenched his fist and spat through gritted teeth. "I was a Pen-'ur pen-channas!
"But, your brothers needed you, and you were a new Marchwarden..." the Guard tried to understand.
"And it was utter nonsense! That is not what love is, is it? If I would have made Itaril my wife, we would have shared the burdens! She would have stood by my side, supported me, and loved my brothers just as I do! She would have made things easier, not harder! We would have been happy, and my brothers would have recovered sooner and…" his voice grew rough. "All that time, I told myself I had made the right choice, when the truth was," he covered his eyes, "there was never a need to make a choice at all! And I did not see it, until it was too late. Too late!"
Daeron said quietly. "I am so sorry, Mellon nîn."
"No, Daeron!" Haldir's head snapped up. "Do not pity me; learn from me!" He glared furiously. "Let me ask you this: Why did you come here? Was it because you truly wanted to give Rhian time, or was it because you were running away from your feelings, like me? Tell me honestly!"
The Guardian sat back and examined himself. "Rhian needs time to learn to be herself, after suffering so much abuse and neglect. I will admit that I was running away, too, but not from my feelings. I was afraid I could not be around her and pretend I was only a friend."
"So, if she wrote to you and told you she wanted you, would you hesitate at all?"
"No! I want her to be my wife! She is my One, just as Sellwen was, and though I do not understand it, I am as sure of it as I can be about anything."
"Good." Haldir tilted his head. "Now, answer this question: Did Rhian tell you she was in love with this man she has been spending time with?"
"Well, not yet…"
"How do you know? What makes you say this?"
"Hannah, my friend and colleague, has written that she thinks they are just good friends, for now…"
"Has Rhianwritten you about it? What does her letter tell you?"
"That she has no idea where any of it is going…"
Haldir raised his eyebrow at the Guardian, and gave him a look...
...and something inside Daeron fell back into place, and his insides began to settle.
"You are right." He felt sheepish. "It was foolish to panic."
"Not foolish, Mellon nîn." Haldir poured him another drink. "You are hopeful, and frightened."
"I am," he admitted ruefully.
"Be frightened, then, but do not give up, Daeron! Do not!" Haldir leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. "You love her as much as I loved Itaril, do you not?"
"I do."
"Is that love worth fighting for?"
"But I do not know if…"
"No, you do not! But promise me, promise yourself, that no matter what happens, you will find a way to tell her everything! Please, Daeron; do not be a fool, like I was!"
"Even if she decides to marry someone else?"
"Yes! You will regret it if you do not." Haldir set his cup down and sat back, as he crossed his legs. "You are right about Rhian: from what you have told me of her past, she does need time. But you are also meant to be here, for reasons I am not sure even the Lady understands yet.
"Daeron, you mustcontinue to have faith that whatever your purpose here, the Valar would not leave you in despair." The Marchwarden looked at him earnestly. "Have the faith that I did not, and when your time here is up, make sure she knows how you feel about her. Tell her everything, Mellon. Even if she does not return your feelings, and you decide to sail, you can go with a lighter heart, because you left nothing to chance."
The Guardian got up and walked over to the window, as the first light from the sunrise peeking through the curtains. "I will do as you suggest. You are right, Haldir. I promise both of us."
"We should try to get a few hours of sleep before our shifts today." The Marchwarden got up and took their cups to kitchen. "I hope you feel better, Mellon, and thank you for listening to me."
"I hope speaking of it helps in some way."
They walked to the back of the talon and just before Daeron opened the door to his rooms, he turned back.
"Haldir?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you, for everything. Remember, you will not be separated from Itaril forever, Mellon nîn,whether it be in Mandos' Halls or the White Shores, and when you are reunited, I wish you every joy."
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LETTERS FROM LOTHLÓRIEN
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From Celeborn to Thranduil:
Suilad Ettā Thranduil:
I am pleased with the continued success of my Wardens in your Kingdoms, and as my reports from Haldir and Daeron will attest, your subjects continue to do well, here.
You might take some comfort in knowing that before I had a chance to speak to my wife about Guardian Daeron's personal situation, Galadriel had sensed his despair. She informed me that my Marchwarden has spoken to him at length, and it seemed to ease his mood. Like you, cousin, I cannot break a confidence, but suffice to say that Haldir's own past might offer him some wisdom.
As I write this, Lieutenant has gone with two other Healers, to another village in our vicinity, to assist with a Pox outbreak and to try to control its spread. Before he left, though, I have noticed that he is subdued, but determined to focus on his duties here.
Galadriel does not yet know the reasons why Daeron is needed here, but we must have faith all will be revealed at the proper time.
I must tell you, Galadriel and I are very much amused at her blossoming friendship with your little Tilda. She looks forward to her charming, whimsical letters and I believe they have done much to lighten her fëa, which still struggles after her confrontation at Dol Guldur. If your new children can have such a magical effect from a distance, then I am especially assured that they have done even more to heal your wounded heart after so many years of melancholy. I am happy for you.
We are very much looking forward to a visit from our grandchildren, who will be coming in a few weeks to spend the winter. As you can imagine, things are about to get much livelier, especially with the twins! Elladan and Elrohir have never really outgrown their impish behavior, though they treat their father with great tenderness and are very protective of their sister (who seems to be the only one who can make them behave!)
If anyonecan cheer up your young Lieutenant, Mellon nîn, it will be my grandsons!
Peace to you, your people and your family,
Regards,
Celeborn
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To Turamarth from Daeron:
Suilad, Gwador:
As requested, I am writing you first, because I am sure you are worried about me. Though I wish you had been the one to share the discouraging news, I can understand why you did not,and forgive you. Hannah was considerate in her letter, and softened the blow, which made Rhian's letter easier to digest.
It is true, Gwador, that while Idesperatelywant a life with Rhian, shemust be allowed to choose freely,with no pressure, otherwise both of us end up in misery. I know you must be longing to talk to her, to tell what you know, but please,please, I must demand that you resist temptation – though I know it would be out of love for me. Please, Tur.
I know I ask a great deal, but I cannot do this any other way.
It is remarkable sometimes how the Valar sends help in unexpected ways, cousin. After I received these letters, Marchwarden Haldir and I spent hours talking, and he was an enormous help, and urged me not to lose faith.
So, I am determined to remain as before; hopeful, patient, and mindful of the tasks before me, and appreciating the sights and sounds of this region.
I been thinking recently of how much time and energy you have spent supporting me, Turamarth, and it makes me feelselfish!
It is true that you help me more than I can tell you, but youmust promise me, Gwador, that if youeverfeel the magic of the Ehtë Raumo, when you meet the One who is meant for you,take your chance at happiness! Donothesitate, even if it means you live on the other side of Middle Earth, and I never hear from you again!
I do miss you, Tur. I miss all of you.
Daeron
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From Galadriel to Tilda:
Greetings to you, my young friend:
I received your letter and I enjoyed it very much. My husband Celeborn (who is your Ada's cousin), has given me a special box to keep your letters in, because they bring me such cheer.
I am glad your father helped you understand what I meant about being cheerful. My husband and our Healer here tell me the same thing. I am very much improved, thanks to something called "Eärendil's Blessing" – which your Ada can tell you about – but the rest of my healing will take time, just like yours.
You see, Tilda, just as you still recover from your serious illness, Tilda, I encountered something that has left me in a weakened state.
Like you, I sometimes feel frustrated that I cannot do all the things I used to, or would like to, but perhaps you and I can encourage each other to be patient, yes? Together we will wait, until our health returns.
Your body might be weakened at the moment, but you are still very powerful. Yes, little Princess, you have power! Perhaps not with the magic that I possess, but you have done something that many others, even the great Healer, Lord Elrond could not!
You see, your Ada was sad for a long time (many hundreds of years) and we all were worried that he could never find a way to be happy. Daeron tells me that you and your Ada have a special bond, and it has brought him joy. That is miracleTilda! You are helping him and we are grateful. Celeborn and I care about your Ada very much.
I would like to travel to Dale and see you, but that must wait until I am strong enough for such a long journey, my dear. In the meantime, I will continue to look forward to our letters.
Affectionately,
Galadriel
P.S. I think "Little Bean" is a sweet name.
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To Ermon and Elénaril:
My Dear friends!
What joyous news is this? TWINS?
May all the blessings of Eru and the Valar be upon both of you and your two little ones. I eagerly anticipate meeting them, and may your little boy be as patient as his father, and your little girl be as gifted and strong-willed as you!
You will make a wonderful mother, Elénaril, and I have no doubt you will have to work hard to keep Ermon from spoiling them!
This blessingcould not happen to a nicer couple, and I wish you every joy.
Blessings to you both,
Daeron
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To Rhian from Daeron:
Dear Rhian:
I received your package and cannot tell you how much I appreciate this picture of little Darryn. It is hard to believe he is not an infant anymore! He isabsolutely beautiful, and I must write to King Thranduil and thank him.
I hope you are well, and that you enjoy your new job. You are an intelligent girl, and this will utilize the gifts you were born with.
I cannot write more, as I must leave to see patients in another village, but please give Darryn my love, and send my best to Ben.
Your friend,
Daeron
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Ídhron gi phuithad, Hervenn nîn – I want to fuck you, my love.
Ídhron cened i chent gîn n'i gellog– I want to see your eyes when you come.
Áse apsene, nilmo. Nán Thranduil ar veru ná Bard – Forgive him, my friend. I am Thranduil, and this is Bard.
Ehtë Raumo – (Q.) Lightning Bolt (lit. "Storm Spear") Sometimes, when an Elf first encounters his or her bond-mate, they can feel a powerful, emotional response, like lightning. (It doesn't always happen – Thranduil felt it when he first saw Mírelen, but she did not return his feelings at first.)
Pen-'ur pen-channas! – Heartless idiot!
Suilad Ettā Thranduil – Greetings, Cousin Thranduil
Suilad, Gwador– Greetings, Sworn-brother
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NOTES:
For an example of Sword and Dagger fighting, see: watch?v=252xB_BdSXo
[1] An Invincible Summer,Chapter 5: "Then, in the year 2432 T.A. a man named Garon, the youngest brother of the Prince of Dol Amroth, came into the area and established the Kingdom of Dale…" /works/14127870/chapters/33048123
[2] Mithrellas was a Silvan Elf who, according the tradition of the House of Angelimir, accompanied Nimrodel from Lothlórien on her journey to the southern havens. Mithrellas, it is said, became lost in the woods of Dor-en-Ernil, where she was found by Imrazôr the Númenórean, who married her. So Elvish blood entered the line of the Princes of Dol Amroth, it was claimed, and her son Galador became the first of the long line of Princes. Mithrellas also bore Imrazôr a daughter, Gilmith. /wiki/Mithrellas
[3] "And Winter Came,"Chapter 21: /works/12026709/chapters/29736558
[4] From The Book of Lost Tales; Volume 1, J. R.R. Tolkien, pg. 260: "that was the day of Turuhalmë or the Log-drawing. "Twill be a fitting day,' saith Lindo, 'for the sports of the morning in the snow and the gathering of the logs from the woods and the songs and drinking of Turuhalmë will leave us of right mood to listen to old tales beside this fire. ...and the company from Mar Vanwa Tyaliéva went into the snowy woods to bring back firewood on sleighs.
Never was the Tale-fire allowed to go out or to die into grey ash, but on the eve of Turuhalmë it sank always to a smaller blaze until Turuhalmë itself, when great logs were brought into the Room of the Tale-fire and being blessed by Lindo with ancient magic roared and flared anew upon the hearth."
[5] In 2509 T.A., Elrond's wife was captured, tortured, and stabbed with a poisoned knife. She never recovered, was sent to Valinor, where she awaits her husband. /wiki/Celebrian