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Chapter Thirty-Three
SUMMARY: Well, it certainly seems like all kinds of people are being "summoned" for something important.
What in the world is going on?
Here is where things get interesting, folks!
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"Laughter is holier than piety, freedom is sweeter than fame, and in the end it's love and love alone that really matters."
– Tom Robbins
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Rivendell, 22nd of August 2946 T.A.
Panting, Erestor rolled into Glorfindel's arms. His husband gathered Erestor to him, and kissed the top of his head. 1
"Aur galu, Meleth nîn," Erestor chuckled.
"I believe I demonstrated that," Glorfindel's arms tightened.
He shifted to lay his ear over Glorfindel's heart and found a steady comfort in its solid, perpetual beat. It was as constant as their love for one another, and reminded Erestor that, though Glorfindel might be above him by birth and by station, he was real and carnal and vulnerable.
And his.
Erestor had been born well after the events of the First Age, so it was only after Manwë had sent Glorfindel back to Middle Earth that they first met.
It was love at first sight. For Erestor, at least. But for over a millennium, he kept his thoughts to himself, convinced that it was nothing but a crush, that he admired Glorfindel only because he was so ethereal, and he had been favored by the King of the Valar himself. That the beauty of the Elf-Lord's face and countenance was too much for him. That Glorfindel hardly cared about his existence, let alone see Erestor in any sort of romantic light.
Yet Erestor could not let go of his desires, and he poured out his heart into a journal he kept, only to find a way to release his emotional and sexual frustration.
Being the Archivist for the Lord of Imladris had its perks. He was given access to Celebrian's gardens whenever the mood struck him, and he made good use of it over the years. Though Celebrian had created it expressly for her husband, Elrond rarely walked its paths; it was too poignant a reminder of his loss. Erestor noted that the twins took advantage in times of confusion or trouble, or just when they missed their mother.
His favorite place was beneath a floral arch of bright blue morning glories, where a bench had been tucked away so one could sit and contemplate in relative seclusion. It was here that Erestor sat and filled his journals with all the secret things he longed for. When each book was filled, he would throw it into the fireplace of his rooms and watch the smoke rise up the chimney, visualizing his angst dissolving with it.
Then one day, shortly after the beginning of the Third Age, Erestor was summoned from his secret spot to attend Lord Elrond with something. And when he came back, his pen and ink lay side by side where he had left them, but his book was gone.
For the next three days, Erestor begged off work, and stayed in his rooms, pacing, worrying, and utterly humiliated. He was sure one of the twins had found it, or worse, Estel. He went to Elrond and confessed all, and left it to the Lord of Imladris to find the culprit and discipline him.
What he didn't expect was a soft knock on his door that evening, and Glorfindel standing in front of him, book in hand and eyes shining.
Before Erestor could say anything, the Elf-Lord entered and threw the book on a nearby stand. Taking Erestor's face in his trembling hands, Glorfindel kissed him.
And kissed him, and kissed him.
When they came up for air, Glorfindel took Erestor's hands and held them to his chest.
"Forgive me," he begged, tears in his eyes. "I know it was wrong to invade your privacy like that, but…" his voice dropped to a whisper, raspy with emotion. "I tried to stop thinking about you. I tried to stop wanting you."
"You did?" Erestor asked, pulling his hands, but Glorfindel held them fast.
"I am a soldier. It is what I will always be, and that means I must be away for long periods of time, to keep the fight from coming to our home, our people. I must be ready to sacrifice my life to keep you safe. To allow myself to bond with anyone seemed selfish, no matter how much I loved them. Especially someone as beautiful and brilliant as you. How could I do that to you? But I am selfish, Erestor. I want you more than I have ever wanted anything. You are the reason I want Middle Earth to be safe. For you," his voice broke. "It is all for you."
Erestor was speechless. In the blink of an eye, the wishes and longing of over a thousand years had come true. It didn't seem real.
Unfortunately, Glorfindel misunderstood his hesitancy. He swallowed hard, dropped Erestor's hands, then turned away, his otherworldly face sporting two bright spots of pink.
"I am sorry," he said, making haste through the door from whence he came. "I was mistaken. I will not disturb you again."
And he was gone.
Erestor looked for hours, but Glorfindel was apparently unwilling to be found. As a last, desperate resort, he went to Elrond. Between his sobs, the Lord of Imladris managed to get the entire story out of him, and set about to make things right between two of his favorite friends.
He summoned Glorfindel to his private chambers under the guise of an emergency, where Elrond was waiting.
Where Elladan and Elrohir grabbed each of Glorfindel's arms and pulled him towards a table covered with flowers.
Where Erestor stood, a watery, hopeful smile on his face.
Where Elrond placed his hands upon each of their bowed heads and invoked the blessings of the Ilúvitar.
A small, private feast was held, then the newly married couple retreated to Erestor's rooms, where they consummated what was to be a long and very happy union.
When Mithrandir learned of it, he sent his blessings, along with a letter chastising them for doing it without him. But he also said a hasty wedding was wise; there was no time for the twins to pull any practical jokes.
When the wizard arrived for another visit the following year, fireworks lit up the sky for hours.
"I love you," Erestor closed his eyes and burrowed into his husband. "I love these new sheets. Who would have known that black silk would be so…sensuous?"
"As if you needed anything to put you in the mood," Glorfindel's fingers carded through Erestor's brown hair. "The way you were looking at me in the dining hall last night bordered on the obscene."
"My apologies; I cannot seem to help myself," Erestor's lips curved upwards. "Tell me again what our lives in Valinor will be like."
"You will love it. As beautiful as our home here is, nothing can compare to Aman. The silvery sand, the white mountains, the singing—"
"My Lords?" A sharp knock was heard at the door. "You are needed in Lord Elrond's study right away."
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Lothlórien, 22nd of August 2946 T.A.
Daeron smiled down at his wife's sleeping form. She lay on her stomach, her back and most of her curvy behind bare, sheets tangled around her legs. Her hair was a mass of long unruly curls that she always complained about, arms were tucked underneath her pillow, and the side-swell of her breasts stirred his groin.
They were having a wonderful time here.
Tur and Evvy had returned from their honeymoon weeks ago, but rarely left the flet the Lord and Lady had prepared for them. No one begrudged them that; the two of them had endured hardship and if they wanted more time alone before it was time to leave, they were certainly entitled.
Daeron had helped Tur purchase the house next door to them in Dale, and Rhian and Hilda stocked it with enough necessities to get them through the first few weeks, until Evvy could make it her own. Lord Bard and Lord Thranduil had seen to the completion of the library and had already begun to fill it with books. Evvy was eager to begin her work there, though the idea of leaving her father again made her eyes fill.
But just last night, Ohtar made a surprise announcement: he would be accompanying them to the North, to spend more time with his friend Lord Gwindor, Archivist at the Palace, and his wife. Evvy was thrilled to tears, and of course she insisted he come and work with her in Dale, but Ohtar kissed her forehead and said, no, that was to be her achievement, that his main purpose for the trip was to take some much-needed time for himself.
The weeks after the wedding were spent playing together as a family, although Darryn spent a great deal of time with Lord Bard's daughters, and, by extension, Lady Arwen, who was completely charmed by him. Daeron took Rhian walking in the woods, where she tested her newly-developed powers on the giant Mallorn trees. What a joy it was to share in their sacred songs with his wife! The Mallorns' ancestors came from Valinor, and just like the Edain and the Eldar, they passed down their songs and stories through the generations.
Rhian wept as she learned of the beauty of the Undying Lands, and at last fully understood that these powers, which she hadn't asked for and hadn't wanted, were truly a blessing. She sang her thanks to the trees and to the Ilúvitar for allowing her the privilege of it all.
One morning, Darryn was dropped off with Lady Sigrid, and Daeron took her by the hand and showed her the site where Pallando met his destruction. Where Nualë and Nuín had been so brutally murdered, where Legolas's bones had been broken, and where Tur and Ruvyn had been nearly destroyed by the Black.
It was the first time he'd been back, and Daeron's heart raced at the horror of the memories which still haunted him. Never had he been in closer proximity with pure evil, and the heaviness of the Black, the sparks, the flames, the cries of that night, came alive again.
Daeron told Rhian how King Thranduil had ordered them to shoot both him and Legolas, how a quick death at the hands of those he trusted was better than a lingering tortuous existence at the foot of Sauron's throne. Rhian was kind enough to let him talk, though they both knew he'd told her this long ago.
The day they accompanied their Kings to the graves of the fallen in that battle was an emotional one. The Princesses set flowers on the graves of Núin, Nualë, Mahtan and Gelmir, while the Elves raised their palms in prayer. Rhian stepped forward and pulled a small pouch from her pocket.
"Nualë's mother asked me to bring seeds from their garden. To give her and Núin a bit of home."
After exchanging glances with Lord Celeborn, Bard and Thranduil gave their consent. Rhian knelt, sprinkled the seeds over their burial mound, where they rested in each other's arms, then placed her palms on the soil.2 Instinctively, Daeron went to her side and did the same.
In just a few minutes, those that gathered were spellbound, as the seeds germinated, and green shoots appeared. Within ten minutes, the mounds were covered in creeping thyme in a bright cheerful pink.
"Her mother said it was her favorite color," Rhian sat back on her heels and ran her sleeve over her face. "But I had no idea what it was. Isn't it beautiful?"
And they all agreed it was.
The vibration of someone climbing the steps to their flet and soon enough came the expected knock at the door.
He grabbed his robe and after fastening it, he opened the door. "Yes?"
"Forgive the early hour, but the Lord and Lady, as well as Mithrandir, request your presence."
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Rivendell, 22nd of August 2946 T.A.
Elladan flexed his fingers nervously as he and Elrohir made their way to Vildan's rooms.
"What is wrong with you?" his brother asked.
"What if this does not work?"
"Of course, it will work!" Elrohir glared. "Why would it not work?"
"What if I cannot get him to agree?"
"You are very persuasive. And you could always emotionally blackmail him by reminding him how much you have done for him."
Elladan frowned as he considered this. "Guilt is a wonderful manipulation tactic."
"Only because you have never tried it on Vildan. Everybody else can see right through it."
"Are you trying to tell me I am obvious?"
"Blatantly. Pitifully. It is almost a tragedy to watch. We don't say anything because it would hurt your feelings."
"Well, you are hurting my feelings now!"
Elrohir didn't even try to smother his smile. "Needs must."
Vildan's rooms were devoid of anything personal. Those had all been packed and loaded on the wagon headed for the Grey Havens.
Weeks ago, Elrond had been forced to grant Vildan's request to leave for Valinor. He had little choice, despite everyone's misgivings. The Lord of Imladris shook his head a lot, Elladan was heartbroken, and Elrohir wasn't doing much better. Melui was surprisingly serene about the whole thing. Before Mithrandir left for Lothlórien, she and Mithrandir were seen huddling in the corner of the dining hall, but neither would say what they discussed.
Until yesterday. She went to Elrond, who sent for the twins. A plan was put in place, and at the last minute, it was decided that they needed some reinforcements, so Glorfindel and Erestor had been summoned.
All the twins could do was pray and leave it up to the Valar. According to Elrond, he had to be willing, and to date, Vildan just wasn't open to anything but leaving as soon as possible.
"Good morning," Elrohir said, scooping up Melui. "You look dressed to travel, Dailên." He kissed her cheek and balanced her on his hip. Where is Tôrano Vida?"
"In his room."
Elladan pushed past them and knocked on the door.
"Neledâf," a sad voice called.
"Vildan?" Elladan stuck his head in. "Are you well?"
Vildan was perched on his bed, two canes beside him, giving him a sour look. "Are you seriously asking me this?"
He came in and shut the door behind him. "You know how I feel about this."
"And I have noted that. But in the end, the decision is mine, and I want to take Melui to a place where she will never have to worry about the ravages of war."
"And you are tired of hurting."
"Yes!" Vildan snapped. "Why is that such a terrible thing?"
"Because you are giving up! Please, reconsider before it is too late!" he pleaded. "You are depressed, Mellon, and I cannot help but believe that you are not giving yourself a chance to get better."
"You lied to me." Betrayal and hurt washed over Vildan's face. "After your father agreed to this, you told me you understood. You told me you would support me! Gorgor, Elladan, do you think this is easy for me? That I want to lose your friendship?"
Elladan leaned against the wall and ran his hands over his face as he tried to calm his temper. "I am sorry, Vildan. I do not mean to upset you."
"I am already upset," Vildan conceded. "You are only making it slightly worse."
"But does not that, in and of itself, tell you something?" He was tempted to sit beside him on the bed, but he'd learned the hard way that it irritated the raw nerves in Vildan's hips. "Mellon nîn, there is one more thing I want you to do for me, and if you agree, and if you do this, you have my solemn vow that Elrohir and I will accompany you to Mithlond and wave until your ship disappears. Just one thing."
Vildan leaned away from him, skeptical. "What?"
"I would like it to be a … surprise."
"No! If you have arranged some sort of party—"
"I would never!"
"That is precisely what you would do!" Vildan's eyes bulged in horror. "Absolutely not. I refuse. I will go to the wagons, we will leave, and that will be that."
"Did he agree?" Elrohir and Melui appeared in the doorway.
"I do not!" Vildan shifted and grabbed his canes—
"Oh, for pity's sake," Elrohir rolled his eyes, and set Melui down. "I have had enough of this nonsense." He stepped over to Vildan—
"What are you going to do?" Elladan asked.
"Shut your mouth," Elrohir barked. He raised his hand and recited the words of the losta-luith, and Vildan slumped sideways onto the bed.
"Why did I not think of that?"
Elrohir's sardonic stare was answer enough.
Melui looked between the brothers with a conspiratorial grin. "We go now?"
"Yes, Hênig," Elrohir winked at her. He grabbed Vildan's arm and hoisted his limp body over one shoulder. "Let us go."
"But," Elladan worried the front of his tunic, "it will not work if he is not willing!"
His brother snorted. "He is not exactly unwilling, is he?" he settled Vildan into position. "Desperate times call for desperate measures." He turned sideways to get Vildan through the door, but still managed to conk the Elf's head on the door frame.
"Watch it!" Elladan grimaced. "He does not need brain damage on top of everything else!"
"Then do not just stand there with your teeth in your mouth, help me!"
A small, soft hand grabbed Elladan's. "It will be all right," Melui said. Then she pulled him along.
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Lothlórien, 22nd of August 2946 T.A.
Twenty minutes after they were summoned, the Warden escorted Bard and Thranduil to Galadriel's private gardens.
"So, this is the place I've heard so much about," Bard whispered to Thranduil.
"It is. And one can only enter by invitation, so you have been granted a great honor."
Bard stepped under the thick eaves covered with white flowers, and suddenly the air took on a mysterious quality: fresh, energizing and sweeter than Bard had ever breathed. It was as if time stood still, and rushed by, all at the same time. The only comparable feeling was when he had drunk too much of Haldir's wine.
Oh, shit.
He nudged Thranduil and murmured out the side of his mouth, "Don't let me make an ass of myself, okay?"
Thranduil said nothing, but his thick, black brows furrowed together, and he gave Bard a side-eyed look that should have wilted the nearby flowers.
Galadriel, Celeborn, Daeron and even Rhian had formed a semi-circle around a tall, marble plinth that held a flat, pewter bowl. Celeborn held a small wooden box.
"Here I am!" Gandalf said behind them. "I'm sorry I was delayed." He rubbed his hands together. "Have you explained it to them?"
"I was about to," Galadriel smiled. "My grandson wrote to us a short time ago, asking for our help with a situation they have been struggling with." She turned her blue eyes to Bard and Thranduil. "It concerns your daughter, Tauriel, so I thought you would want to assist us."
The Kings barely had time to exchange a surprise glance before the Lady picked up the pitcher of water and poured it carefully into the bowl, lifting and lowering it three times.
"I must ask all of you to remain silent; any questions you might have, can be answered after. For now, accept what you see and hear, and join your strength with ours so that we might succeed."
Galadriel leaned forward, blew carefully across the water, and urged everyone closer and complete the circle around the Mirror of Galadriel.
Bard was afraid to look, but in the end, his curiosity got the best of him. In the mirror, he saw a pair of dark-haired Elves making their way through what looked to be a maze.3 One of them carried an unconscious Elf over his shoulders, his arms dangling and smacking against the Elf's sides and low back. The other carried a small, blonde Elven child who pointed eagerly ahead.
A small gasp escaped Thranduil, but he held his tongue. Bard squinted and tilted his head. It was the twin sons of Elrond (he could never tell them apart) and was that… Vildan? What was the matter with him? The blonde Elfling must be the niece he had spoken of, the reason why he left the North so abruptly.
The pair were making remarkable progress through the maze, at what appeared to be the child's direction. Finally, they reached a stone tower at the center, and climbed a spiral staircase, much like the ones on the trees here in the Golden Wood, and at that top—
Elrond was waiting, as was Glorfindel and another dark-haired Elf, Bard didn't recognize.
When they reached the top of the tower, the twins carefully laid Vildan down on the floor and they gathered into a circle around him, just as Bard and the rest were doing here.
Then Elrond said something, and they all looked up.
At them.
Could Elrond see them?
Bard flinched in surprise, biting his lips to keep from asking the dozens of questions rolling through his mind.
Celeborn held out the wooden box, opened it, and Galadriel took out a glass vial that began to shine so brightly, Bard had to squint. With a nod, Daeron reached out and covered the Lady's hand and the vial dimmed to a reasonable level. 4 Their fingers glowed pink from the light and a new sort of power pulsed through the air. With her other hand, Galadriel reached for her husband's, Daeron interlocked his fingers through Rhian's. Gandalf and the Kings of the North closed and completed the circle.
"Shall we begin?" Galadriel said with a smile.
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Aur galu, Meleth nîn – Good morning, my love
Dailên - "Little Beauty," Vildan's nickname for his niece, Melui.
Gorgor – Basically the Elven equivalent of "Shit" or "Damnit"
Neledâf – Come in (Lit. "Permission to Enter")
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NOTES:
1 Legolas, Ion nîn, Ch. 41: /works/17088320/chapters/48266986
2 Ibid.; Ch. 24: /works/17088320/chapters/44196763
3 SCOM, Ch. 6: /works/26090521/chapters/67649222
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4 An Invincible Summer, Ch. 40: /works/14127870/chapters/37637711