A/N And here we are! The last of the letters I currently have written, which should hopefully bring things to a satisfying resolution. Also bonus points if you spot the minor punctuation detail in this one and guess where I got it from! I may come back to this at some point in the future and write some more, in effect Elrond telling Celebrían about Imladris life after she sails, perhaps giving her his thoughts on young Estel, the finding of the Ring etc. Let me know if that would interest you! But I have other WIPs I want to consider at the moment so for now, I think this is a good place to leave them.

Many thanks to Yugiyasha96, Shirebound, Sylvar Noriel and Eliza61 for sticking with this fic, it's wonderful to have shared this with you. All the best xxx

My dearest, Cel,

You won't be surprised to hear that it was Arwen who managed it, in the end. Arwen who brought us all back together, as she always does. She has inherited your talent for intimidating three stubborn peredhel males and making us all hang our heads like scolded elflings. As well as your talent for binding up the rifts between people and reminding us all of what is really important. Even in her grief she remembers that, even when the rest of us forget, and even though I thought she had retreated into herself, she noticed what was wrong and made it right.

You would be so, so proud of her. No, not 'would be'- I know that you are proud of Arwen, and our sons too, wherever you may be. And thus, being proud of our children is something we can still share. I find great comfort in that.

And I think that you will find the way she did it most amusing. I can almost hear the two of you giggling together as she tells you the story. She came into my study this morning and asked me to hold some climbing rose stems for her while she tied them into their frame. I should have known then that there was something more to it: we raised a daughter who is more than a match for your average rosebush and would ordinarily be furious if anyone dared to suggest she needed help with such a task. But all that registered with me at first was that my daughter was reaching out at last and for that, I would do anything she wanted. So I could not deny her this, even though I was apprehensive about going into your garden so soon; before today I could not bring myself to do it. I had told myself at first that I just wanted to give Arwen her privacy, as she seemed to have adopted the garden as her space to think. But we both know that Arwen would have welcomed me with open arms had I wanted to remember you with her there. Truth be told, it was really because the place is so saturated with memories of you as you used to be that, after the past few months, going there would tear open all the wounds in my aching soul. You're arching your eyebrows at me now: 'and tell me, O wise healer, is it not sometimes necessary to re-open wounds so that they do not fester?' I know, Cel, I know that, but now I find I must count myself among the patients who dread the pain of the experience even so.

My reluctance notwithstanding, Arwen asked me, so I went. She ushered me through the arched wooden door with a sad sort of smile that told me she saw the hesitation in my steps and she knew the reason for it, but she wanted me to carry on all the same. And because of that, because I could never deny my daughter anything she wanted (how you used to tease me for that!), I went in. It was even more beautiful than I remembered. And then it became clear to me why Arwen brings her sorrows here. All this rain has nourished your roses so that they are growing with reckless abandon, pushing forth their glossy leaves, and the late-flowering ones are blooming everywhere and scattering their petals in benediction across the rain-soaked earth. Here the sorrows of the valley, the rain and mist that have marked everything since you left, are absorbed and turned into life. Today it was only drizzling mildly, and each leaf and bloom was delicately crystallised by the tiny raindrops settling on their surface.

I was speechless with the sheer beauty of it, and with the onslaught of memories of sitting with you here in starlit nights and sunny days, singing with you, laughing with you, making plans for our family with you, and all I could do was stare around me as the memory of your presence made your absence ache like a knife in my chest. Then just as I thought that I could not bear to be in this place any longer, could not bear the crowding of so many memories around me, and felt the urge to turn on my heels and flee, Arwen slipped her hand into mine. She led me to the roses sprawling against the wall, throwing their stems out wildly after their latest spurt of growth. Capturing one of those stems in her deft fingers, she handed it to me and then set to work. It became easier, just to concentrate on the mechanics of stem and wood and wall, to focus on my hands and not on the tidal wave of memory and grief held back by the straining dam in my mind. And it felt so good to be working in concert with Arwen, to hold the stem in place while she secured it to its support against the wall, to seize on a little crumb of togetherness which our family has not tasted for so long. Too soon, she was telling me that she needed another mantle, and bidding me stay while she fetched it, and leaving me to continue the work alone. I was gladdened by her concern for her own welfare, although I could not help feeling a little bereft once she had gone. So, a little slower now alone, I continued with the task, doing my utmost to prevent my mind from picking at the scar your absence has left on my heart, to concentrate on these growing things which must be tended and nothing else.

I think you can guess where this is going, can you not, Cel? Arwen did return with another mantle- scrupulously honest, as we raised her to be- but also with two brothers. They entered first, but froze on the threshold when they saw me, looking as if they were on the point of bolting. Not that I can blame them, given our last encounter. Perhaps they would have left immediately, but with a hand at the small of the back of each brother, Arwen nudged them forwards and they did not seem inclined to resist, though they came into the garden only as far as was absolutely necessary. Then she gave a pair of scissors to Elladan and a ball of twine to Elrohir and returned to stand by the door. And I will give you her exact words, Celebrían, because she was sublime and I want you to be able to imagine this.

She told us, 'You see the Carnin Annûn on the north wall which needs to be secured. Adar has already begun on that. Then there is all the Iavas Los in the far bed to be tied in as well. I expect that done when I return, and I expect you not to damage a single petal- or each other.' (1) Then she fixed us all in turn with her gaze, and ai, it broke my heart how she reminded me of you in that moment. That look which somehow manages to be sharp, saying, I expect more from you, Elrond Peredhel, yet also so full of understanding that it feels as if my soul is being read like a book. You have pinioned me with that look more often than I care to say, and you know that it leaves me utterly defenceless. Then, in a swish of skirts and gleaming hair, she disappeared and closed the door. And then there was the click of a key turning in a lock.

So, you know what happened, then, and you are shaking your head and laughing that your hopeless trio of ellyn needed to be locked in a walled garden by Arwen in order to force us to talk to each other. Or perhaps you are weeping for our foolishness. Perhaps both. For a long moment, none of us moved. Then Elladan dropped the scissors, rushed to the door and tried to open it. And tried again. And then pushed and pulled at the handle until the door was shaking on its hinges. I wanted so badly to tell him to stop, that I could not abide violence in this place, not here. But I knew I had forfeited my right to his respect by losing my temper and did not wish to antagonise him needlessly before I had apologised, so for once, I held my tongue. Elrohir stepped in then, to my relief, told him that he might break it and he couldn't bear it if they damaged your garden. Elladan glowered at him but stopped shaking the door and instead started slapping his open palm on it, shouting for Arwen, telling her to stop her ridiculous games and release us. But his ranting produced no effect, not even the faintest hint of a chuckle from the other side of the door, so eventually he was forced to admit defeat. Arwen had locked us in. And she had left us here.

Elladan sank down with his back against the door and buried his head in his hands. Elrohir simply stood where Arwen had left him, frowning down at the ball of twine in his hands as though it were a puzzle he couldn't solve. I was still kneeling alongside the rose I had been tying. So there we all were. I had been waiting for this moment for so long, for the moment when I could finally get my chance to talk to them and make amends. I had planned out what I was going to say, how sorry I was about the words that escaped me in anger, how I had let my emotions get the better of me because I was not in control of my own grief, that I knew how they love you and that they do honour you, that I understood why they felt the need to hunt but that I was terrified of losing my two wonderful sons to the closed-off hard-hearted warriors I sometimes see rearing up in their eyes. And I had them there, a literally captive audience. But they were both very studiously not looking at me. And I opened my mouth to speak but the words died on my lips, and I realised that nothing I had intended to say was going to work.

So I didn't use any of the speech I had so carefully planned, and the words I said instead came instinctively before I could overthink them. I called softly to Elladan, and I asked if he would mind helping me to tie in a rose. He stared at me for a moment as if I had gone mad, and I held my breath. Then, very slowly, he made his way across the garden and knelt opposite me, still eyeing me as if I were a wounded warg liable to attack at any moment. Lately, I suppose I have not done much to dispel that impression. I handed him the short pieces of twine in my hands, held the stem steady, and fought the mad urge to exclaim in joy as, still carefully avoiding looking at me, he tied in the rose with the infinite gentleness I knew was hiding somewhere behind the angry shell of his grief. Elrohir watched us both guardedly as we wordlessly moved onto the next plant, and I held it aside as Elladan tied it in. Then, just as I had hoped, Elladan asked his brother if he could cut us some more twine, and Elrohir actually smiled, if only fleetingly, picked up the scissors, and joined us.

We went on like that for some time, speaking little and then only of the task in hand, but it was a start and it was a beautiful one. As we neared the end of our first set of roses, one of the stems Elrohir was holding out of the way slipped out of his grasp and snagged on my sleeve. I thought nothing of it, and went to disentangle myself, but suddenly another hand was pulling mine away, stopping me from dealing with it. I looked up in surprise to find Elladan beside me, carefully removing the thorny stem from my robes himself and then handing it back to Elrohir. Finally, Elrohir made eye contact with me, and he said, very quietly, 'I'm sorry, Adar.' And I knew he was referring to far more than the rose stem, so I looked at both of them and said, 'I'm sorry, too.'

And that was it. That was all we needed. There was so much more we left unsaid, but we all knew how much lay behind that little exchange. And I could see the apology written clearly in Elladan's eyes as well, although it was his brother who voiced it. We acknowledged each other with a nod and then by wordless agreement, returned to our work, in a quiet which was much less strained this time.

Perhaps it was the unexpected lack of tension with my sons which freed my mind to walk the path of memory again, despite the pain it brought me. Eventually, I found myself kneeling by the last of the plants we had been assigned, about to tie its stem to the support, and unbidden the memory surged in my mind, the memory of you and I planting the first roses together in this garden. I could see the quirk of your brow as you told me I'd need to dig the hole deeper than that, asking me whether the root structure of roses was a gap in this loremaster's knowledge. I could hear you singing, both of us singing, a hymn to Yavanna asking her to bring life and strength and beauty to these plants. And then I could feel your hands atop mine as we firmed the soil around the young plant, feel your breath tickling in my ear as you whispered that I could press down harder, the plant would not break. I looked down at my hands, wildly hoping to see them pressing soil around a young rose with your slender fingers resting lightly on top. Instead, of course, my hands were alone. They were in the middle of tying a mature rose plant to a support, they had paused in the middle of a knot, and they were trembling.

I'm still not sure why that was my breaking point. The memories of you have nearly overwhelmed me so many times in the past days and I have always been able to breathe through it and carry on. But perhaps, today, I couldn't bring myself to care about being strong, carrying on, blocking it out. And maybe the wisdom buried beneath many layers of foolishness, the wisdom you could always dig out of me, told me that the last thing my sons need now is a father who keeps pretending to be strong. So, at last, I gave in, dropped the twine, and wept. It appears that I did have some tears left in me, after all. And once they started flowing, they didn't stop.

I was dimly aware of Elrohir's presence beside me, finishing the task I had not been able to complete with his swift, steady hands. He stayed kneeling there by my side once he had done it and reached out to rest his hand on my leg. The rose gave slightly as Elladan released it, and then another hand appeared on my shoulder. I glanced around to see the tears flowing thick and fast from both our sons' eyes, and I covered each of their hands with one of mine. And so we reached the end of all our attempts to put it off, and we let ourselves be overwhelmed by the sorrow of the fact that we have lost you and you will not be coming back.

We stayed there for a long time, like statues apart from sounds of our sobs, and it was thus that Arwen found us, frozen in our tableau of grief. She approached us silently, tears streaming down her own face, then took Elladan's hand and gently pulled him down so that they were both kneeling opposite Elrohir and me. Her other hand found Elrohir's, and there we all were, kneeling on the ground among your roses, weeping for you, missing you, facing it together as we should have done right from the start.

I hope that this has not upset you. I do not want you to add our griefs to your own. Rather, I hope that you will see from this how much you are missed and how very dearly you are loved. Do you know that, Cel? In the past months, I told you over and over again, repeated it when you woke from the nightmares, that you are surrounded by those who love you with everything our hearts can give. But there was a dullness in your eyes and it was as if you couldn't hear me, and that was the most painful thing of all, to see you wander, lost and alone, believing yourself unloved when nothing could be further from the truth. Do you know it now, Celebrían? Have the Undying Lands allowed you to remember that you are so precious to so many people? I hope that is the case. If I could tell you of our love just once more, if I could know that you believe it, see that spark of trust in your eyes just one more time, then even this separation might be easier to bear. But I cannot tell you, except in these letters you will never read, or know if you believe me, and I must simply trust and hope that you do.

Today has not resolved everything, not by a long way. The twins have not asked my permission to hunt yet, but I know they will soon, though at the moment there is a kind of truce around the matter. I think I shall have to let them go, in the hope that those beautiful souls we watched grow will withstand whatever violence is unleashed around them and not be consumed by it. But there was healing for us all today in grieving for you together in your favourite place. All because Arwen has the good sense to know when her male relatives need to be locked in together and given a simple job to do. There is so much of you in her, and so much of her grandmother too, as well as a kind of quiet spark that is all her own. She reminded me today that the Valar give even as they take away. I thought that I could not endure them taking you away, but perhaps, with the gift of Arwen and the twins alongside me, I just might.

Oh, and I nearly forgot to tell you! Just when we had cried ourselves out, the drizzle finally ended and a pale ray of sunshine pierced the clouds. It is as though, now my tears have finally come, the valley no longer needs to weep in my stead. Perhaps that is oversimplifying the matter, but there is still so much I do not understand about the connection between this valley, Vilya and myself. However it happened, it was a beautiful moment. The droplets covering your rosebushes caught the sunlight and gleamed with miniscule rainbows, and I could see from their faces that the children shared my joy in this, shared my tiny, persistent feeling that perhaps there is light on the other side of darkness, after all.

Love, always, in the fervent hope you believe that,

Elrond

(1) My invented Sindarin names for species of rose, Crimson Sunset and Autumn Snow respectively