Chapter Fifteen: Pebbles into the Water-Shrine

It was still early afternoon when the Dúnedain rose and took their leave. They left the terrace down the same stairs they had climbed hours before, but somehow with hearts a little less heavy. At the very least, answers had been found to questions so terrible and painful that it had seemed they would swallow up any efforts to address them. The Elf-Lords watched them go, and blessed them in their minds.

"They have before them a long ride," said Erestor. "May it bring them no further troubles, and help settle their hearts."

"They still must face their people, and make them understand," said Gildor.

"It will go well," ventured Glorfindel. "The Dúnedain are nothing if not resilient, and there is no doubt that their greatest weight has been lifted: the safety of the Lady and the boy." He raised his hand in farewell, answering the parting signal of the group now far below.

"Yes," said Elrond, almost in a whisper, "this part has gone as well as could be hoped. If only what follows can attain as much."

"You will see the Lady now," said Gildor not in question.

"I will. We have much to speak of, if she is equal to it. I would not disturb her if she is not yet strong enough."

"I would walk with you to her lodgings," said Glorfindel. "I, too, wish to see what the healers have attained with her."

"Something, surely," said Elrohir. "I believe they are in the south gardens. I heard laughter, just now."

"Laughter!" exclaimed Glorfindel. "That would be magic indeed."

"Know you not the far reaches of the sisters?" joked Erestor. "Have you not yourself escaped from darkness through their light and song?"

"I have," said the golden-haired elf. "Verily, they will bring Gilraen back from grief and madness before her fine mind is damaged. Praised be the Valar."

The elf-lords reached the terrace before the main entrance. Erestor and Gildor took their leave and climbed the stairs to the gallery, Elrond and Glorfindel turned to the great doors, now open.

"I will seek my brother and the boy now," said Elrohir. "They were to go fishing after tending the horses. Up the valley, at the lake." He paused, then winked at his father. "At our spot, Ada."

Elrond gazed at his son as he scrambled nimbly down to the river-path. "Our spot... Too long have I not lain in its sweet shadows, waiting for a fish to bite..."

"With the line tied to your toe, Elrond. Well do I remember." Glorfindel chuckled and patted his friend's shoulder. "Perhaps now, with the boy, you will be called upon to reveal some of your lures."

"I did reveal some, to Arathorn in his day," mused Elrond. "So long ago, yet less than a brief life of men." He took Glorfindel's arm lightly. "Come. Let us seek the lady."

They turned to follow the corridor to Gilraen's quarters, and stopped at the half-open door. Within were two of the healers' apprentices, ordering the room. "In the garden, Master," said one, pointing, in response to Elrond's silent question.

"Elrohir and his sharp ears, right as always," said Glorfindel. "Shall we go this way?" he pointed to the far door.

"There is something I must fetch from my chamber, first," answered Elrond, "if you will come with me."

They retraced their steps to the entrance hall and took the stairs to Elrond's high quarters. "I put this together in hope, yestereve as I watched the boy in his mortal sleep," he said, taking from an alcove a box beautifully fashioned of fragrant woods. He lifted the lid, and within Glorfindel saw a stack of blank sheets of fine parchment, and in a smaller recess to one side, a set of writing styluses and ink blocks of several colors. Elrond took a tiny squat glass bottle with a tight stopper and raised it to the light. The content, liquid and gold, glittered as it flowed from side to side. "For the most special of letters," he said with a brief smile as he replaced it in the box.

"This is not for the boy," said Glorfindel. "A handful of years must still pass before he can revel in such a gift."

"No, my friend... this is for her. I believe it will ease her heart and fill her lonely hours if she can mold into words all the great happenings of her days, both the glad and the bad." Elrond closed the box and wrapped it in a large white linen cloth. "Let us deliver this to her quarters, then seek the ladies in the garden."

XXX

There was a tiny bay across the pool, no larger than plump pea-hen, where swirling waters were captured and stilled for short whiles. Suddenly tempted by its brief calm, Larat threw a pebble at the narrow depths. She failed, and took up another small crystal. Her shot came closer to the rounded rim, but still short. She muttered some word or other, and took up yet another pebble. This time she missed only barely, and both Lynael and Gilraen sat up to take interest in the challenge. Milia watched from a swinging seat, picking lazy notes from her harp.

"Once more," said Lynael, "then I will test my sure aim."

"Nay, twice more," vowed Larat, "five throws in all: one for each finger on my hand."

"Very well," answered Lynael, "then I will show you how to place a pebble in the very eye of a dragon!"

"Oh my goodness!" laughed Gilraen, "Such a lovely nook and you see a dragon, my dear Lynael! Has my friend some hidden anger?"

"Ha!" said Larat with pleasure. "Five was the one!" She had finally put a pebble into the little circle, rewarded by a brief splashing.

"Not anger, my sweet one," said Lynael. "Dearly do I love to mark a spot and send a flying pellet to its center. As if it were a dragon's nostril, and I a warrior in the host of the Valar destroying Thangorodrim." She aimed a missile of her own and sent it almost true. Almost, not quite.

"I will try," ventured Gilraen.

"You will wait for my other four throws, first," said Lynael. "You heard Larat set the rules." Gilraen sat back with a small snort, then began searching the ground for five good pebbles.

Lynael stood up and sent three shots in quick succession. All of them bounced off the rim. She stopped, breathed deeply and threw her last pebble without seeming to make an effort. It plopped nicely into the center of the target, and she hissed in joy.

"Now, me..." Gilraen took an archer's stance and let fly her first pebble. It flew straight to the tiny inlet and plopped into the depths. "How now!" she cried, jumping from one foot to the other. "My very first shot, into the center!"

"Ah, yes," said Larat. "Now, four more times."

Gilraen's second pebble went too high, and bounced off an outcropping rock. The third was aimed more carefully, to good avail, as was the fourth. The fifth went awry, and she swore under her breath. Still, three from five was enough to win the round.

"Very well," said Lynael. "We have warmed up, and now we can contend in earnest."

"But I did take the first round," protested Gilraen, searching again for more pebbles.

"Not at all proper proceedings," said Larat. "I threw mine from a sitting position, idly, and you both stood and shot with purpose. Now we will all stand."

"I believe you have used up all the pebbles in sight," said Milia after several rounds.

"In the water," said Gilraen. "They are plentiful in the pool-bed." She lay on the ground and reached into the depths of the whirling waters. "Here are more!" she held out her hands full of crystal pebbles. Her arms were wet almost to the shoulders, her hair damp and dishevelled, her tunic spotted with mud and grass stains. She seemed an urchin, and her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. Milia smiled and strummed.

Lynael and Larat each chose their pebbles and the three took their places at the pool's edge. The game had begun in sprinkling and laughter, but somehow taken on intense reaches, almost warlike though still in fun. Now they shot once each, in swift order, and most of the glittering missiles disappeared into the deep stony ring.

"Have you kept count, Milia?" asked Lynael suddenly.

"Not a one, dear sister," she laughed in return. "I do not keep count even in my verse and music, so hardly would I in your wild splashing game... though I believe Gilraen has had the afternoon."

"Oh, yes, oh yes!" crowed the girl, leaping in joyous victory. She joined arms with her companions and they circled in a happy jig. "We have slain the dragon, we three!"

They collapsed in laughter on the thick grass and clover, and suddenly took notice of Elrond and Glorfindel standing on the last stair leading into the little garden.

"My lords!" coughed Lynael. "We did not hear your footsteps..."

"Well, hardly," said Glorfindel, "what with mad dancing and laughter." His words were light, but great had been his astonishment moments before at the sight of the tousled ladies romping like children.

"Gilraen appears to have just been fished out of the swirling pool," smiled Elrond. He came across the grass and took her hands, kissed them and then opened her arms wide to appraise her from head to toe. "I had not seen you so, since you were but a small girl making us a feast of flowers for lairë."

The lady blushed and grinned at her kinsman. "It seems a child lives ever in us, even in the long-enduring Firstborn, uncle dear," she said, pushing her hair back from her forehead. "And this place, the water... it gives wings to my heart."

"Then you must come here often," said Elrond happily. "Arien still has for us hours in the middle-day hot enough to send one into the swirling waters."

"And it seems you must remove a basketful of pebbles from the little water-shrine," observed Glorfindel with a mock reprimand.

Gilraen and Larat exchanged looks of wonder, but Lynael laughed. "I know not of a water-shrine," she said.

"You have made it yourselves, this day, with your mirthful game," he smiled, "and I will come myself and toss pebbles into the circle when I have aught on my mind."

Another round of laughter rose and finally settled. "Let us walk, my dear," said Elrond, taking Gilraen's arm. "There are matters to speak of, and then put away into silence. Are you willing?"

"It must be done," she said softly. "Our happening here is not in play, I know." She glanced sideways at the elf-lord. "Already I have said that I will be ruled by you, my revered kinsman. Say, then, without fear of disturbing my peace... barely alive..."

"As I see," he began with studied calm, "there are two tasks for you to carry out. One, the first and primary for all else, is to heal yourself and make yourself whole, even as a warrior in the battlefield with a loved one falling at his side... I know this... I have been there..."

"Uncle..."

"The pain never goes away, altogether," he turned his face upwards for a moment. "But the great river flows on, and we are in it whether we will or nill. And so yourself, my dear." He stopped and steered Gilraen off the path, upwards on a small rough track. "There is a tree I would show you," he said.

"A tree?" she asked curiously.

"A wise tree. To help bring words precise and pure. Also very beautiful," he added with a smile.

Glorfindel and the healers followed, but turned off into another sheltered terrace with views to the house and the river. They sat on the grass in silence for a moment, gazing at the warm, waning afternoon.

"Gilraen," said Glorfindel suddenly, "would be a princess even in the Blessed Realm."

"She would," answered Lynael in surprise, "but why say you?"

"Her beauty at times seems ethereal, as if it would never fade… although my mind tells me that it will, as does all beauty of mortal kind." He sighed, and the sisters exchanged tiny smiling glances.

"Say on, Master," said Larat. "Your words have taken my attention. If you please."

"There is more, beyond the fetching oval of her sweet face. Beyond even her quick, deep mind." He paused, almost as if puzzled. "There seems to be a light from her," he said softly, "that comes from afar in a tiny seed and finds in her a willing womb… takes root in her marrows and glows from within…"

"Your feeling does not mislead you," said Milia, touching his breast briefly. "Her high task, we now can see, was always to give birth… bring to light… the hope of the Dúnedain. And indeed, of us all… children of Arda… children of Eru…"

"Some things are secret, even to the Valar," said Larat. "Only Eru knows at last what is in store for this little boy. And for so many, through him."

"With the happenings of these days past, so unlooked-for, I perhaps understand some things I read in the afterbirth on the night Aragorn came," mused Lynael. "Some become clearer, others do not. As yet. They may, in days to come."

"One thought stands strong in my mind," said Milia with unwonted gravity. "We have been gathered around this mortal woman and her child with a purpose that bursts like a bud awaited over a long age."

"In truth," said Larat in reflection, "not unlike the stony pod of the fire-following lissandrin, that keeps over countless seasons and will only flower in the aftermath of a raging fire, in a desolation of ash and cinder."

Glorfindel looked at each of the wise ladies, and stretched his hands out towards them, palms upward. The three did the same, and eight arms became the rays of a center formed by eight hands, a layered flower of flesh-and-bone fingers.

"Like a star," murmured Lynael, "thus fitting: this star, beloved ones, will rise."