A/N Many thanks to regular reviewers Sylvar Noriel, Eliza61 and Shirebound. You're all fantastic and the encouragement is much appreciated. Spotlight on our favourite Balrog Slayer for the fourth letter!
My dearest Cel,
Glorfindel gave up being subtle. He's not very good at 'subtle', as you know well, so it was a great relief when he finally stopped trying. Today he barged into my study, hauled me to my feet without a word, steered me through the gardens by my shoulders, deposited me on a bench under a colonnade in a secluded corner, pressed a glass of wine into my hand and instructed me to start talking. Though I will confess I was a little dazed at the time, I still managed to find it rather impressive. Indeed, I believe had he done that to the Balrog, he would have saved himself the fight, death and resurrection and instead he would have been treated to a tearful confession about whatever traumatises little Balrogs; though I'd imagine that experience would be no less painful. Sorry, Cel. Now I'm just being silly. You used to laugh at my tendency to distract myself when I'm overwrought, among many other things. Whatever will I do without you to laugh at me, Cel? I'll get far too pompous without your gentle reminders that even the Master of Imladris is sometimes slightly ridiculous. You'll have quite a job on your hands when I am finally free to sail West. And I can anticipate no greater joy than finally being taken down a peg or three then.
But I digress, again. I was telling you about Glorfindel's rather unorthodox therapeutic technique. It worked. I talked. He didn't really give me the option to do otherwise. It was easier than I thought it would be and once I started it was hard to stop. I told him that the twins continue to avoid me at all costs, and I fail repeatedly to get through to them, and Arwen too seems more distant than ever. I told him I'm lost without you and I feel like I'm falling apart. I was close to despair so many times in the past year, when I couldn't find your hiding place among the shadows. But it wasn't like this emptiness. You were still in Imladris, or at least the shadow that shrouded you, which meant you still trusted me to heal you. So I still had hope that I might be able to find you and draw you back from your despair. But I failed, and now you're gone, and I don't understand how life can just carry on without you. I can't even find solace in the stars any more because Eärendil just reminds me that the constant refrain of my life has been people I love being hurt and then leaving me behind. And I feel so guilty that I'm writing this to you. I know you need peace in the West more than you need me. As a healer and your husband, I should be happy that you're going to find it, and I am, but I miss you terribly and I still cannot see how in Arda I'm going to put myself back together after this.
I told Glorfindel all of this. I felt strangely detached, the healer's part of my mind sagely acknowledging that a burdened fëa may be helped towards healing by sharing its sorrows. I think Glorfindel was expecting me to weep, but I did not. I wonder if I should have done. I feel vaguely guilty about that, and I'm not entirely sure why. But then again, I seem to feel vaguely guilty about everything nowadays.
After a rather unconventional beginning, Glorfindel was exemplary. He heard my ramblings more patiently than I deserved, asking quiet questions to encourage me to delve deeper into my feelings. He offered neither judgement nor solutions, just listened. And of course, he did his best to convince me that none of this was my fault. Flawless logic, as you would expect from him, and it was impossible to argue so I wearily agreed. Theoretically there are good reasons why I should not consider myself responsible for what happened to you. It's just that none of them make sense to my heart. Glorfindel wasn't fooled by my acquiescence, of course, and he knew that he hadn't convinced me, but he didn't press it. He just told me that it would take time for me to work this out and he would do whatever he could to help. I thanked him, and it felt so inadequate, just a few words to express my gratitude to him for sticking with me when I need him most, even though inexplicably I keep trying to isolate myself and lick my wounds alone. I think he understood though, and I even got one of his rare hugs.
That was something else you used to laugh about: how reserved we always were with each other despite a friendship spanning many yéni. Do you remember just after the twins were born, when he came to visit us in our rooms? I beckoned him in and we just stood there, gripping forearms and smiling at each other. Then you called to us from the bed, an elfling in the crook of each arm, weary amusement in your voice as you despaired of male elves and our precious reserve and asked if we needed you to have triplets before we could allow ourselves to actually hug each other properly. You would have been proud of us today. Glorfindel dislikes fighting shadows that can't be destroyed with a sword and you know all too well how uncomfortable I am admitting that this healer sometimes needs healing himself. I think we both managed today with the help of what you taught us. You still astonish me, Cel, even now. You left the Havens four weeks ago and I'm still discovering the gifts you left in Imladris. Your blessing will linger in this valley as long as its inhabitants do not give in to despair. I think I'm beginning to realise that now.
So I let him hug me, and I hugged him back, and it was a very good hug. Not the brief, slightly awkward tangle of arms we managed at your prompting and to your exasperation that day we introduced Glorfindel to the twins. It was natural and long and lovely, a real brotherly embrace that brought me comfort I thought I'd never know again and certainly don't deserve. I can imagine your delighted and slightly amused expression if you had seen it. 'About time!' you would say. You left your husband in good hands. I only hope that you will be cared for with as much love and more wherever you are now.
I told him everything. Well, not quite everything. I didn't tell him about these letters. I considered it, but I was strangely reluctant. It's not that I feared his scorn, I know he would have understood- in fact, he would probably have encouraged me to keep writing them- but in the end I didn't. It feels right that this is just between you and me. It can be our last little secret to share.
May you find healing and rest and joy, Celebrían. May the Valar smile upon you and may you walk ever in the light.
Love, always,
Elrond