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Chapter Twenty-Six
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SUMMARY:
"A person does not grow from the ground like a vine or a tree, one is not part of a plot of land. Mankind has legs so it can wander."
― Roman Payne, The Wanderess
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City of Dale, 15th of June 2946 T.A.
"My Lords," Ivran called to them from the doorway of the large receiving room. "The envoy from Gondor has just entered the South Gates."
As one, the Royal Families of all three Northern Kingdoms got to their feet from their places on the couches, chairs, and the floor. Sigrid smoothed down her dress and checked Tilda's hair ribbon, that was slightly askew.
"It's fine, Sig!"
"It was fine, until you started messing with it," Sigrid said patiently. "Just hold still for a second, and I'll fix it."
King Daín was decked out in his finest, as was Balin, Ori and Gimli, the new General of the Erebor Army. Queen Dílna's beard was especially fetching, sparkling with jeweled beads that matched her gown. Princess Vís was there with her husband, speaking quietly to her friend Tauriel, who was looking beautiful in a light green gown matching her tiara.
Hilda, as usual, was pacing around the room, checking everyone's appearance, straightening a hem, buttoning a cuff, and, as usual, smoothing down Bard's hair. "Did you use that pomade I gave you?"
"It makes my scalp itch," Bard complained. "And I hate the smell—what did you put in it?"
"Patchouli, it's called; Hannah told me about it. It's supposed to repel insects, too," she sniffed. "I thought you'd like it."
"Not if I can't stop scratching—they'll think I've got head lice."
"Quit being such a baby. Rhys, come here, lovey." She licked her thumb and wiped a smudge from the corner of his mouth. "Better. Alun? Where are you? Turn around and let me see…good. What about you, Evan—"
"No need to worry, My Lady," Evan grinned. "My wife gave me a thorough inspection before I left the house."
"How is she feeling?" Hilda squeezed his arm. Eryn, having recently become pregnant, was suffering terribly with morning sickness, and was currently on bedrest, with her mother and nephew Jack waiting on her hand and foot.
"Weak. Tired," Evan's smile betrayed the worry in his eyes. "But they said it should only last a few more weeks."
"Oh, the poor dear. Can't Daeron or Ermon do anything?"
"Trust me, Auntie," Sigrid nodded. "They are. At least she's keeping down the broth down now. The baby's healthy; but it just happens like this sometimes." She turned to Tilda. "Mam was sick like that with you."
"But Hannah told Ada and me that she was sick from something else," lines grew on Tilda's brow, as she turned to Thranduil. "What if—"
After flashing a displeased look at Sigrid, Thranduil was quick to answer their youngest. "They have carefully examined Miss Eryn, Tithen Pen. She does not suffer from the same malady as your poor mother."
"Are you sure?" Tilda asked her sister.
"Yes, Til." Sigrid said firmly, for Evan's sake, as well as her sister. "Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise."
Out of the corner of his eye, Bard noted the relieved slump of Evan's shoulders.
At the end of May, Evan had bounded into Bard's study announcing he was going to be a Papa. "A Yule baby!" he beamed, nearly bouncing up and down with excitement. "And it's a boy!"
There were handshakes, hugs, back slapping and congratulations all around. But when Eryn began to truly suffer, so did the father-to-be. Bard whispered something about sympathy pains, and it was amusing at first, but after two weeks, the poor young man's clothes were becoming baggy, and Evan's cheeks were hollow and had taken on a slightly grey tone.
Lydia, Eryn's mother was known for her excellent cooking, so that wasn't the problem, but that didn't stop Hilda and Greta from fussing over Evan bringing him all kinds of baked goods and tidbits, as well as a hearty lunch and even sitting beside him to make sure he ate. Daeron was summoned and his prescription was a night out to get his mind off of things. To that end, Percy, Alun and Bard grabbed him by the collar last Monday, and they took him out for an evening at the Long Lake's gaming tables.
"Come on, gang," Percy waved them ahead. "Show's about the start. Hil, we all look as good as we're going to. And remember, if you get nervous, just picture them in their smalls."
"PERCY!"
Barely smothering a giggle, Bard cleared his throat. "I'm sure we can manage."
They assembled themselves into some sort of dignified order and waited for Bard's signal. At his nod, Ivran and Legron each grabbed a heavy brass handle and opened the doors.
Out they stepped onto the dais, and not for the first time did the King of Dale give thanks for such a large platform. It made for a good first impression. Bard's personal family were in the center, with Galion, Rôgon, Feren and several of his officers to their right. The group from Erebor were to Bard's left, but all three Kings of the North were out front, crowns on straight and this time, Hilda insisted Bard wear his cape and the boots she had had made for the occasion. They pinched Bard's feet something terrible, but the militant expression on Hil's face prevented him from uttering a word of complaint.
In due time, several Gondorian soldiers entered the courtyard in pairs, riding immaculately groom horses, their coats shining in the sun. Their helmets were silver-toned and smooth, with what appeared to be feathers adorning their cheek guards. The only thing that detracted from them, in Bard's humble opinion was the way they came to a point at the top, like a nipple. He made a mental note to pull Percy and the boys aside and warn them within an inch of their life to keep that observation to themselves—at least until after their guests leave.
After no less than eight pairs of guards had circled around the fountain, three of the most splendid and ornate carriage Bard had ever seen approached, each pulled by four white horses. There was no question that when it came to pomp and ceremony, Gondor was King. Or at least the home of the High King of Men in Middle Earth. For that reason, the Stewards of Gondor were according all the respect and deference as their station deserves, while they wait for the long-hoped for King of Gondor and Arnor to make himself known and reclaim his throne.
But would he, Bard wondered. Many believed the line of Kings had died out, and the union of Men would remain as it is until the world either ended, or Sauron was defeated. Was such a man alive now, hidden away, await his moment? 1 When he asked his husband, Thranduil only shrugged and shook his head.
"I have no idea, Meleth nîn," he had said. "If there is such a one, Elrond and Mithrandir would not be expected to reveal such things to me. Best not to dwell on it."
The carriages stopped, and several footmen raced to the middle carriage to place a stepstool and open the door.
Out stepped an exceptionally tall, grey-haired man with the same regal bearing as any Elf noble, but for his neatly trimmed beard and short hair. Ecthelion II son of Turgon, and descended from the ancient The House of Húrin, had eyes that held great intelligence, cunning, but also wisdom, which a quality more important than any of the three. After another flurry of the footmen, a lovely middle-aged woman, , two stunning young ladies, and a rather moody-looking teenaged boy.
Deep breath, Bard told himself, and after shaking the image of the future steward in his undergarments, he stepped forward followed by Thranduil. "Ecthelion, son of Turgon, we are deeply honored by your visit to the Northern Kingdoms. We hope your stay will be both pleasant and enlightening. I am Bard I, son of Brand, and I am pleased to introduce Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm, as well as Daín II, son of Náin, King Under the Mountain, and his lovely wife, Dílna, daughter of Mîm, Queen of the Mountain."
"It is a great honor to meet you, Bard, King of Dale." Lord Ecthelion bowed before Bard, holding is gaze, as was appropriate for a ruler of his land. He then offered Thranduil a formal Elven salute, saying in perfect Sindarin, "Êl síla erin lûmh e-govaded 'wîn, Aran Thranduil. I adar nîn iest suilannad, renled di mail dear."
Thranduil replied graciously. "De mhilui. Gwannas lûmh and i idhrinn celeg."
With a smile, Ecthelion turned to Daín, bowed low and pressed his forehead to the Dwarf's.
"Vemu gamut sanu yenet, Daín Náinul. Dayamu Khuzan ai-menu; tan menu selek lanun khun." After greeting the Queen and complimenting her on the jewels in her beard, they both replied that they were at both his service and that of his family's.
"Please, allow me to introduce my wife, Princess Nienor, daughter of Anárion. The lady seemed to glide towards them, and after paying all the proper courtesies, took her husband's elbow.
And this is our oldest daughter, Annael and her husband Halmir," and with a wide proud smile, Ecthelion gestured to the infant in Annael's arms, "and this little jewel is my granddaughter Hareth."
The Princess made to hand the sleeping baby to her husband, but Bard raised his hands with a smile. "Please," He gestured to the sleeping baby, "don't bother with the formal greetings; we don't want to disturb the little one."
"I know it's an inconvenience," Annael's smile was polite but genuine. "But I couldn't bear to be parted with her."
"I don't blame you," Bard gave her a conspiratorial grin. "You're in luck, because Elves adore babies, especially my husband. They'll be lining up to babysit."
The new mother's eyes darted over to the Elvenking, who was surreptitiously peering over Bard's shoulder to get a peek. "She is beautiful," Thranduil said, charming her with a bright smile.
"We brought our own nurse, but we'll certainly keep it in mind, My Lord," she gave him a small curtsy.
Ecthelion continued the introductions. "My second daughter is named Fíriel, and this is my son and heir, Denethor."
Fíriel seemed to be excited to be on this adventure, and giggled through her greetings. Denethor mumbled a greeting, but when his father touched his shoulder, he looked up and said. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, My Lords."
After Bard and Thranduil ushered them inside, Hilda, Rhian and Greta helped the staff show their guests to their rooms to rest and refresh themselves before the formal banquet in two hours. Feren's troops helped the Gondorian guards haul in the mountain of trunks and suitcases to the various guest and servant's rooms, then escorted them to their temporary Barracks and the barns so they could see to their horses.
After Bain and Rhys went upstairs with Tilda, Sigrid kissed her fathers and went off to work, so Hannah could attend the banquet with Ben and Rhian. "I'm on call," she explained. "And I'm the new girl, so I have to fill in when they want me."
"I appreciate that, but—" Bard protested.
"Da, I promised myself that I wouldn't use my position to gain favor. We've worked it out; I was there for the arrival, Hannah gets to attend the banquet, and Daeron can go to the ball with Rhian. It's fair."
"She's right, Bard," Thranduil kissed their daughter's forehead. "I am proud of you."
"You've met Ecthelion's father?" Bard asked when the Kings and Aides went to Thranduil's study. Galion was in his adjoining office with his husband, and Percy, Ben and Alun were pouring everyone a drink to celebrate their success so far.
"When he was a young man. Turin II sent him to the Palace to strengthen ties to Gondor in hopes they could count on us in times of need. At the time, it just wasn't possible, as Turgon saw for himself. We had our own struggles—between Dol Guldur and the dragon at Erebor, it would have been suicide to send troops elsewhere when we were barely managing to stave off our own evils. And as strong and valiant as the men of Gondor are known to be, they would not be much help here."
"What did you think of Turgon himself?" Bard raised his glass to his lips.
"I was impressed. He had all the qualities to be an excellent leader; conscientious, honest, and did not pursue power for his own sake, but to do his best for his people." Thranduil smiled over his own glass. "Not unlike a certain bowman to which I am acquainted."
"Oh, hardly. These guys know their destiny practically from birth; I sort of fell into my job."
"Which makes you all the more inspiring. And attractive." Thranduil snaked his arm around Bard's waist and drew him in for a quick kiss.
"I went to Gondor during the early part of Turgon's reign," Rôgon said from his chair. The blacksmith's husband was perched on the arm of his chair, smiling down him, as Rôg absently rubbed the small of Galion's back. "He was as good a Steward as you had foreseen, and I can see Ecthelion has many of the same qualities."
Percy was relaxing in his chair, his legs crossed at the knee. "And who knew he spoke Khûzdul like that?"
"Why does that surprise you?" Galion gave Percy a small smile. "Did we not spend weeks in preparation for our diplomatic visit to Erebor? This is part of any ruler's education—the good ones, at least." 2
"Aye," Dílna said, as he feet dangled off the edge of her own seat. Her whisky glass was nearly empty, and Galion jumped up to refill it to the brim. "Ye can teach a fella what he needs to know, but knowing how to use it is the difference between a good Uzbad or a stuffy, arrogant, swaggering despot in love with the sound of his own voice."
"Are you talking about me?" Daín
"Here, here," Daín clinked glasses with his wife and let out a good strong belch.
"Not your best, love," Dílna teased. "I'd only give that one a four."
"What are you talking about?" Percy crooked an eyebrow.
"Oh, it's a little game we play. We've been doing it for ages, now."
"Scoring your belches?"
"Aye," she said saucily. "On a scale of one to ten."
"Like we did at Daeron's stag night?" Bard winced. "What I remember of it, anyway."
Ori, who was sitting with Balin and Gimli blushed until his face was beet red.
The jewels in Dílna's beard sparkled in the light as she laughed and pointed at the young Dwarf with her thumb. "He won?"
"Hands down," Percy grinned.
"It's always the quiet ones," Gimli threw his head back and roared.
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Rivendell, 15th of June 2946 T.A.
Elrond dreamed about his wife again, and woke up full of joy and sorrow and loneliness. He knew Celebrian had appeared to some people in their time of need—the most recent had been Mithrandir's news that she had helped the Guardian Turamarth when he was lying in Thranduil's palace hovering between life and death. 3
He was happy for the young Lieutenant. He was. And he knew Celebrian was doing all she could to help him and other Elves in the fight against the Evil One. But the petty, base part of him was jealous. He'd never admit it out loud; he hated even acknowledging it to himself, but every time accounts like these reached his ears, all he could think about was the weakened, nearly transparent condition she was in the day Cîrdan the Shipwright carried her aboard the ship that would take her away from him.
When the gangplank had been taken up, and the sails unfurled, that strong bond between Celebrain and Elrond was like an invisible cord that pulled him toward the water's edge. Every instinct in his fëa told him to dive in, to follow, to swim every league of the Sundering Sea to remain with his One. He had made it to the end of the dock when strong, loving hands grabbed his arms and dragged him back.
Elladan and Elrohir were on either side of him, weeping themselves, saying, over and over, "Ada, do not do this; you told us it is not your time, yet. You must stay, please!"
And all the tears Elrond had been holding back since his wife had been kidnapped and raped and tortured, and all his attempts to heal her had failed, after making the agonizing decision to get her off these shores as soon as possible, erupted from deep inside him. One of the most powerful and respected Elf-Lords in Middle Earth collapsed in an undignified heap. The Vanguard escort had quickly gathered around him in a tight circle, facing out, to afford their lord what privacy they could, but that couldn't silence his strangled weeping and those gathered had great pity in their hearts.
"Avo dhavo, Ada," Elladan wept into his shoulder. The twins knelt beside him, both their arms encircling him and holding him tight. "Avo dhavo am faergol."
Then Arwen shouldered her way into the circle, knelt before her father and took his face into her hands. "Ada?" she looked into his eyes and stroked his cheeks. "We are here, and we love you. Please, Adar vuin nîn. Let your children be enough, for we love you."
It didn't happen right away, but gradually, over the next century, the sharp pain settled into a dull ache. And Elrond did his best to live up to his purpose in Middle Earth. For Celebrian. He was driven by the need to live up to the sacrifice he'd made, so when they finally did meet again, she would be proud of him.
Since March, when the Lusiël's role in his wife's capture brought the nightmares back. And the sharp, intense pain of their initial separation. Elladan spent most of his nights staying in Vildan's apartment with Melui and her caretaker, but Elrohir had moved his things from his own apartment and had taken the spare room in Elrond's rooms, over his father's protests.
"I do not need you to take care of me, Ion nîn!" he scowled.
"Has it occurred to you," Elrohir shrugged as the corner of his mouth twitched, "that I might need you to look after me?"
"Does Glorfindel approve of this?"
"It was his idea," Elrohir's grin was victorious.
At night, Elrond did his best to remain quiet when he woke in the night, but after the first several times of waking and finding Elrohir sitting on his bed facing him, a concerned yet soothing expression on his face, the Lord of Imladris had to admit he was grateful for his son's presence, and allowed himself to lean on his strength.
Until the end of April, when Mithrandir came crashing into Elrond's study, uninvited.
"you've been having nightmares!" the Wizard's face was stern, but his blue eyes were filled with concern. "Your sons just told me How long and how often?"
"That," Elrond's chest contracted with embarrassment, "is private and not your concern."
"It most certainly is my concern, as well as your sons'." Mithrandir glowered down at him. "You should have told me, my friend."
"I…" he licked his lips. "I do not like to think about it. They are just a reaction—"
"Of course they are, but you're a fool to think you can handle this alone."
Without further ado, the Wizard grabbed his head. Elrond squeaked in surprise, a sound he hadn't made since he was a child and he and his brother were living in the house of Maglor and Maedhros. 4
After murmuring a few words Mithrandir let go of his head, then went around his desk to pour them both a drink and sit down on of the high-backed chairs.
Elrond stared at him, jaw dangling.
"What?" the Wizard's eyes were full of purposeful innocence.
"What do you mean, 'what?'" Elrond could feel the muscles in his forehead scrunching together. "What did you just do to me?"
"Fixed it."
"How?"
But Mithrandir just gave him a cagey grin.
And just like that, Elrond was no longer forced to relive the worst time in his life. And three times, Celebrian appeared to him, serene, smiling, touching his face the way she used to with eyes full of love. And he always grabbed her hands, kissed her palms and said, "I love you," he sobbed, each time. And before he could pull her into his arms, he'd wake up. Maybe it was better that way. The pleasure was always followed by longing, and it his dreams went so far as to make love to her, it would have been worse.
But at least, he wasn't being haunted anymore.
This morning, once he'd pulled himself together and finished his morning ablutions, he gathered his sons and Mithrandir together for a meeting.
"It is time to wake him up. His spine is as healed as it can be, and our next step is to help him move his limbs and encourage the muscles and nerves to begin to work."
"Will it be painful?" Elladan asked.
"I wish I could tell you." Elrond ran his fingers over his mouth as he considered how to phrase his answer. "I doubt it is a matter of pain, as much as what Men tend to feel when they say one of their limbs has "fallen asleep." In those cases, they feel a sensation they call 'pins and needles' and it can be most uncomfortable."
"I beg to differ, Ada," Elrohir spoke earnestly. "Lord Thranduil suffered greatly when we pulled him out of the iced water on that cave that December. He was in agony!" 5
"This is true," his brother affirmed. "We need to prepare ourselves, and find ways to ease the pain. Massage might make it worse, but it could help in the long run, by hastening the process."
"What about Melui?" Elrohir asked. "She will want to see him."
"Let us see what condition he is in, first, yes?" Elrond stood and smoothed down his robes to distract himself from the nerves that shook his stomach, and led them toward Vildan's and Melui's rooms.
The child was with her caretaker, perched by Vildan's bed as the Elleth read aloud. Melui was sitting on the bed by her head, running her fingers through his brown hair.
"Hello, Dailên," Elrond said brightly into her upturned face.
"Tôrano Vida wake up now." It wasn't a question. Melui's voice was calm and her eyes trusting.
"Yes, we are, Tithen pen," Elladan picked her up and signaled for the caretaker to follow them out of the room. In the hall, Elrond could hear his son instructing the Elleth to take Melui outside to play, and, not surprisingly, the child's howl in protest.
"Let them stay in the Sitting Room," Mithrandir called. "She will be all right."
"How can you be sure?" Elrond lifted an eyebrow. "You just heard my sons speak—"
"But I wasn't there at that time, was I?" the Wizard lifted his shoulders and let them drop. "Trust me; if I can take care of your nightmares, I can take care of this."
"Nightmares?" Elladan, who had just reentered the room, said simultaneously with his brother.
"Ada?" Elrohir's eyes widened. "What—"
"Never you mind, Ion. I am fine," giving the Wizard a dirty look. "Let us stick to the task at hand, shall we?"
The four of them placed their hands on Vildan's torso and began to sing. Elrond closed his eyes and studied the Ellon's spinal cord, the vertebrae that had been carefully placed together and sung together. The bones were completely healed, the white lines were made of stronger material than he had been born with. The tendons and discs were perfectly aligned, and the muscles showed absolutely no sign of inflammation. He ran his mind over every nerve that travelled down his right leg, then the left. All was calm in Vildan's body, but was it functioning?
There was only one way to tell.
Elrond lifted his head and ended the song.
"Vildan? Vildan, it is time to awaken and be with those who care about you. Melui is here, Vildan and she is most anxious to see her Tôrano again."
The Lieutenant's chest rose and fell a bit deeper, and the slow process of waking from the healing slumber had begun.
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Adar vuin nîn – Our beloved father.
Avo dhavo am faergol – Don't yield to grief.
Avo dhavo, Ada – Don't yield, Ada.
Dailên – "Little Beauty," Vildan's nickname for his niece, Melui.
Dayamu Khuzan ai-menu; tan menu selek lanun khun – (Khûzdul) Blessings of the ancestors upon you; may your forge burn bright
De mhilui. Gwannas lûmh and i idhrinn celeg – You are most kind. It has been too long; the years are swift.
Êl síla erin lûmh e-govaded 'wîn, Aran Thranduil – A star shines on the hour of our meeting, King Thranduil.
I adar nîn iest suilannad, renled di mail dear – My father wishes to send his greetings and remembers you fondly."
Rista-Goel - "Terrible Severing," when a bond-mate dies and their fëa is summoned to the Halls of Mandos. Often a spouse fades from the agony, but even if they live, they are but a shell of their former selves.
Uzbad – (Khûzdul) King; lit. "greater Lord"
Vemu gamut sanu yenet, Daín Náinul – (Khûzdul) Greetings and well met, Daín son of Náin
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NOTES:
1 /wiki/Aragorn
2 An Invincible Summer, Ch. 13 & 15: /works/14127870/chapters/33898041 /works/14127870/chapters/34112004
3 Broken Wings, Ch. 25: /works/20519588/chapters/54219163
4 "When the Sons of Fëanor attacked the Havens of Sirion, Elwing was taken by Ulmo. The twins were carried off, but later found near a waterfall and they were named as such; Elrond was discovered in a cave. Taken captive by Maglor, they were subsequently raised by him." - J.R.R. Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien (ed.), The Silmarillion, "Quenta Silmarillion: Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath" /wiki/Elrond
5 Broken Wings, Ch. 25: /works/20519588/chapters/53127007
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