Whose choice to leave?
Xxxxxxxxx Spring 3021 end of the Third Age xxxxxxxxX
"Elrond was correct about the wolves. His connection to the valley is still very strong," Cirulian mused, "but keeping our inhabitants safe will now require more guards."
"Say instead more man-power." Glorfindel chuckled as they turned towards the house.
"They will be yours to guide, train, and deal with." Cirulian was relieved in some ways, for he had been Glorfindel's right hand almost since the founding of Imladris. Except for the occasional sabbatical in Mithlond, he had spent most of this age planning for the safety of Imladris and its Lord. What would he do in the West? How would the Teleri there react to his nearly two ages of loyalty to Elrond?
"They do learn quickly," Glorfindel noted in approval. "I will need to pick someone to take up your duties. Our new trainees will soon be ready to patrol the grounds. But for strategizing and planning for contingencies? I think they are not yet ready. I, for one, am thankful that wolves and wildlife are to be the primary problems versus more sinister enemies."
"Glorfindel." He halted. Cirulian nearly bumped into him.
"What?" The Teleri stopped as he recognized the glaze that momentarily fogged the Vanyar's eyes. He gave thanks yet again that the one ring had been destroyed, for Glorfindel and Erestor would never be held to their oath to Gil-Galad. Elrond was no longer in danger of falling under the Dark Maiar's control. The fell servant of Morgoth had been purged from this land. Glorfindel blinked, a puzzled look in his eyes. "Is there something wrong with our Lord?"
"He is in Celebrian's garden and needs my assistance." Glorfindel turned to take the shorter path through the woods.
"He ignores Silsilalda's request that he rest in the mid-afternoon?" Cirulian recalled.
"Obviously, but why? We will soon find out."
Glorfindel stopped suddenly, for the air was strange. He reached out with his senses, half expecting to detect Vilya's metallic twang. He felt Elrond's bright soul, much wearied, the song of the Evenstar, and something other – otherworldly. There was no sign that any had passed this way. One as weary as Elrond would have trudged through the snow, yet the surroundings were pristine and unmarked. Glorfindel spied the telltale dark hair, an ebony curtain around a pale figure. His heart nearly skipped a beat as he hurried over to his friend.
"Elrond?" The Peredhel was slumped against the bench, kneeling in the snow. He wore no cloak or shoes and was shivering, although Glorfindel did not think it was due to the cold. In one swift movement, the Vanya had removed his cloak and wrapped it around the Peredhel.
"His skin is like ice, but his clothes are warm. He has not been here long," Glorfindel noted as he lifted his Elrond.
"A leisurely stroll out here would have exposed him to the elements much longer." Cirulian observed, then added with worry, "He hates to be carried."
"Clear our way." Glorfindel was also worried about the lack of response. To Mordor with unrealistic protocols that held poor elven royalty to such an unassailable standard, they needed to pretend they were never injured. They were nearly at the back steps when Elrond stirred.
"Glor?" Came the somewhat dazed response.
"Rest a moment, Elrond." Glorfindel carried him up the steps. Cirulian had run ahead to ensure no one would be in the hallway. He opened the door as they arrived.
"Thank you. I think I can walk." Elrond whispered weakly.
"I should hope so." Glorfindel laughed as he set Elrond down on the bench. The Peredhel sank gratefully into the seat. Glorfindel and Cirulain exchanged worried glances before the golden elf bent to remove Elrond's wet socks, exchanging them for the house slippers stored near the entrance. "Take your time, Elrond. There is no one around. Why did I sense your daughter? She is in Gondor, is she not?" He could tell his guess hit close to the mark, even though their Lord was inscrutable to most.
"She inherited your panache for heart-stopping adventures. Perhaps I am still needed in these lands to watch over Turgon's line after all." Glorfindel smiled. "Once I have escorted you safely to the ship."
"And watched it sail," Cirulian added in amusement.
"Perhaps I will give my charge over to Cirulian and Erestor so that they can keep you safe in the West."
"Unsporting to … tease … when … not able to defend," Elrond spoke breathlessly.
"The Herald of the High King!" Cirulian chuckled.
"Who normally wields words with surgical precision." Glorfindel laughed, rejoicing to see Elrond's lips curve upwards in amusement. Erestor approached carrying a tray. He set it on the bench beside Elrond.
"I heard a little Miruvor was in order." His words were light, although his concern was evident. He poured a small cup for Elrond. Elrond accepted it with a low mumble of thanks and sipped it slowly. Erestor kept the conversation entertaining, updating them on the day's news until Elrond had finished the cordial and set down his cup.
"The guards said you had not left your room. Yet, Glorfindel finds you in the garden?" Erestor stated curiously. Elrond merely shrugged, clearly either not wanting or not able to explain.
"Perhaps it was something like the incident with Gil-Galad and Arwen when she was a child." Glorfindel offered. Elrond nodded through a yawn. An age ago, a strange experience or shared vision blessed Elrond, Celebrian, and Arwen with a short meeting with Gil-Galad long after the High King had perished.
"I am sure you can explain later after a short rest." Cirulian offered the Peredhel a welcome delay. Elrond rose gingerly. Though he would be loathed to hear, his friends were each deeply concerned by his appearance. Since the ring's destruction, Elrond grew steadily weaker, almost as if the valley drew strength directly from the bearer. Perhaps that was not far from the truth. The unnatural barriers that protected the valley were diminished yet still in place, and one could still feel the comforting, subtle, and renewing air of the haven, even if now it was only once one crossed the Bruinen.
Xxxxxxxxx Several weeks later xxxxxxxX
Dear Eru, thank you for keeping Elrohir and me safe. Please help us guide Imladris and expand the schools here to help heal those who remain. Dear Eru, guide us in our choices, but please allow us to stay together if that is your will." Elladan had never been given much to prayer. However, since they had taken the paths of the dead and survived the battles of the ensuing months, he found himself turning to it often, especially knowing that his and Elrohir's choice would soon be upon them. Only now, as they assumed leadership of Imladris, did they truly appreciate the influence the haven had in the past and could have in the future to promote learning and peace. He slipped from his bed and went through his sitting room into the shared bathroom. Elrohir also had an entrance to it from his rooms. They had not wanted to move to separate suites. By the look of things, Elrohir had already come and gone. It was a surprising occurrence. He shrugged on a tunic. The gold embroidery was more elaborate than anything he used to wear. Now, in the role of Lord of Imladris, he was required to don clothing that denoted his office. A knock on the door caused him to button the tunic faster.
"Come in," Elladan called.
"Lord Elladan." Eruingal's voice lilted in amusement.
"Laughing will not impress visiting dignitaries." Elladan countered. "I thought I taught you better."
"It is a simple trade agreement." Eruingal laughed. "And if I listed the things you taught me, my father and yours would be quite irate." Although Erestor's son was a few years older than Elladan, the Peredhil children had been much more imaginative in planning adventures. Their childhood exploits were the basis for legends and tales of warning.
"Touché!" Elladan gave an exaggerated bow. "I am glad that we are doing this together. I had thought most of our people would sail."
"The numbers are still in flux, but I believe that elves will have a presence in the valley for a while yet. But the council convenes shortly, and you have not yet eaten."
"No harm in missing a single meal here and there." Elladan laughed. "I am not my Adar."
"I will remind you of that." Eruingal laughed as they headed down the hall. New necessities and consequences of the war meant that updated trade routes and treaties were needed. A new council planned the valley's future while many Eldar and previous council members planned their journey West. Their duties often rotated, for no one could stand the pressures of leadership for millennia, though his Adar was consistently recognized as the head of Imladris. They proceeded to the smaller conference room neighboring the council chambers. Initial negotiations on the trade agreement lasted for an hour. Then, there was only a short break before the council of Imladris convened. The docket for the meeting included discussion and approval of the shortened healing program designed for the Edain healers. The two-year education and training courses were now being implemented with a small party of visitors from Gondor and Rohan.
"A message from the Lothlórien." Iesten handed Elladan the paper. It was rare that a guard interrupted the council in session, and of course, they gave the message to the new Lord of the Valley.
"By messenger bird?" Erestor noted in surprise. The guard nodded. Silence fell around the council table as Elladan opened the note and scanned its details.
"The party from Lothlórien will be larger than anticipated." Elladan informed them. "It seems more elves have decided to sail with their Lady.
"Have they informed Cirdan of their intent?" Eruingal asked.
"It says arrangements have been made with Mithlond," Elladan replied.
"Will we have enough room to house them?" Ithlathron worried.
"It should not be a problem. We have provided quarters to much larger visitors." Merwen answered while he and Erestor exchanged a knowing glance. They were leaving the valley to new hands. More than half the council now consisted of Edain members. The majority of those were Dúnedain. "How would the valley adjust?" Erestor wondered as he watched his son Eruingal direct the following discussion. He sat silently, now a proud father watching his son deftly guide the discussion. It was at once a strange and liberating thought that filled him with both anticipation and worry. Yes, Elladan and Eruingal would guide the valley well. Elrohir would primarily handle the expansion of the healing school and coordinate the visiting scholars from the world of men. But what would his role be in foreign lands? What did the future hold for him in Aman?
Xxxxxxx Celebrian's garden a few weeks later xxxxxxxX
"Your teas have improved. I am glad you took my advice for adding milk and honey." Bilbo complemented. As always, Master Elrond's guard, Cirulian, if he recalled rightly, kept a somber face.
"Some medicines are rendered less effective in mixtures while others take on stronger properties. But I think the milk and honey here at least do not harm." Elrond smiled as Bilbo sipped the healing draught. They discussed the preparations for the journey and Frodo's last letters.
"This shall be my last adventure, I think." Bilbo paused. "Do you think my lad Frodo will truly come with us? He was very upset about the state of Bag End – a nasty business with that Sharky and his henchmen. To think what they made of my home!"
"I believe Frodo and Sam have restored much. Also, your gifts and the cuttings from our gardens should brighten their spring and bring joy for the summer. One cannot erase what happened – nor should one. For the lessons of history prompt vigilance in the present." Elrond shifted in his seat. He had glimpses of the future. But what actions should one take? Perhaps some decisions might induce the very future he hoped to help.
"But it may not be enough. It may not be enough for Frodo." Bilbo repeated. "If only there were something I could do, somehow I could aid them." A bell rang in the distance. "Perhaps I will ponder this after lunch." He rose and smiled at Elrond. "Are you coming?"
"Please go ahead. I will join you before long." Elrond returned softly. Cirulian tried not to laugh at Bilbo's low mutter about Elves not having enough respect for meals. Elrond, though, seemed to stare off into the distance. Cirulian thought perhaps he was checking on the security of the valley, but the power from Vilya was much diminished.
The desk was situated in front of the window, giving its occupant a full view of the garden below and allowing the glinting silver beauty to bask in the warm sun. He drew in a breath in admiration. How had he been so blessed?
"Why are you hiding in the doorway, Meleth-nin?" Her laugh was as melodious chimes, but she continued writing. The feather quilt danced lightly across the paper.
"You get precious little time to yourself these days." He smiled and bent to kiss the top of her head, careful not to jostle her. She was writing about the twin's latest exploits. The three-year-olds were very inquisitive but, as yet, had no sense of what might be dangerous. Thus, in their waking hours, they required full supervision. "Are you noting how they ran their parents and caregivers ragged so that when they are grown, you have documentation to show them?"
"No!" Celebrian laughed, but then her voice shimmered like her mother's. "But elves have such few children these days. Would that we could share tales with other mothers - who are contemporaries as the daughters of Men do! Someday," she paused, "these tales may be a balm to others. I may not be able to comfort them, but my words may aid and soothe them."
"My Lord?" Cirulian called gently. Elrond blinked at the change in scene and realized he was in the garden. He shivered, although the sun was warm. The Teler, who had known him since his first age, suddenly stepped closer with concern. "Perhaps a bit of lunch and a healing draught would do you well, too." He prompted Elrond to stand.
"Perhaps, though, after lunch, I think I will check the storage rooms. I think that is where some of Celebrian's belongings ended up."
Xxxxxxxx Halls of Healing xxxxxxxxxxX
"They are doing well." Silsilalda smiled at Elrohir, who would soon be the primary director and administrator for Imladris' new program for apprentice healers—the past few weeks had featured non-stop discussions and planning for the healers of men. Men were a misnomer, for they had designed a special training for midwives, generally women. Silsilalda perceived his thoughts. "I am still baffled by the customs and cultures of men."
"The customs in Gondor are different than ours, that is accurate. However, customs in Harad and Rohan are different still. It is indeed bewildering to try to keep them straight.
"You are well suited for that role." Silsilalda praised. There was little time left for the transition of leadership. The Galadrim were due to arrive. "Although these roles have been a big departure from your earlier endeavors."
"I had never experienced war on that level." Elrohir divulged. "Then for my paltry skills to be at such a premium after battles and later in Minas Tirith…" Elrohir shuddered.
"Now, perhaps you understand why your Adar left that aspect of his duties to focus on healing and administration of the valley after the Last Alliance."
"Yes, I have a very different view of his actions now, given our new experiences, than I had just a few hundred years ago."
"Your healing skills have grown much in these past few years. Time and experience mold and change us.
"But our essence does not change."
"My Lord?" Coldol interrupted them. The elf was out of breath. "Your Adar."
"Where is he?"
"Cirulian summons you to the storage rooms." Silsi and Elrohir were startled. Elrond's health had been a worry for them since the war ended.
"Go Elrohir. I will come with a draught." Silsi doubted that the Peredhel had even heard her as he ran off. Luckily, the storage rooms were on the side of the house that faced the healing halls. Thus, it was not long before Elrohir entered, scanning among the boxes and trunks for his father.
"When did this happen?" Elrohir asked quickly as he bent down to where Cirulian sat with Elrond. They were crouched next to a keepsake trunk made from lightning pine. It was Naneth's, Elrohir realized.
"I sent word as soon as I realized something was amiss." The guard answered.
"How long?" Elrohir repeated as he began to assess his Adar.
"Ten minutes, maybe more."
"Was he doing anything strenuous?"
"No, we were just sitting here going through the trunk's contents." Cirulian's answer worried Elrohir, for Elrond was pale and perspiring – a cold sweat, he realized, and perhaps shock. He could feel pain radiating from his Adar's chest and up to his jaw. His breathing was shallow and fast. The wind curled around them as if seeking something.
"Shut the door," Elrohir ordered as he remembered another incident with the wind. He grasped his father's hands firmly. "Adar!" he called as he tried to reach out to his father's spirit. He sensed pain and deep sorrow but no recognition.
"Elrond, heed my voice and come back to me," Elrohir commanded as he channeled all his concentration and power. His voice rang with authority. The cloudy silver eyes met his own. Through these mirrors to the soul, he heard the disparate songs of his father's spirit. Each melody had its own rhythm, which battled against the others. Their disparate songs sparked a dismaying realization for Elrohir. His Adar's spirit was gravely wounded. Little wonder he was not staying to meet his grandchildren or watch them develop, for there was no chance he would survive long enough in these lands to greet them. Clarity and recognition suddenly solidified in the elder Peredhel's eyes.
"Welcome back, Adar." Elrohir smiled soothingly but did not release his father's hands, though Elrond tried to evade his hold.
"Adar, allow me to aid you," Elrohir said while gently directing his healing towards his father. The dismay and realization that crossed the silver eyes almost undid Elrohir. It was clear that his Adar understood his predicament. Elrohir leaned forward to kiss his Adar on the brow.
"I love you, Adar. I will miss you."
"It is my time," Elrond whispered.
"Yes, it is time to seek healing in the West." Elrohir agreed, though he kept his hold on his father's hands.
"Your Naneth would have wanted Arwen to have these journals from when we were but new parents." Elrond motioned with their joint hands to a case that held three scrolls.
"They must be very fragile." Elrohir surmised.
"Yes, they will not survive many readings. But Arwen, I think, will appreciate them."