Silver eyes swept the crowd. They did not stop or linger on him but lit with awe and wonder when they fell on Celebrían. He watched their emotional reunion while he drank in the sight of his son. The silken dark hair was from Elwing, though it seemed more unruly. Thin strands had worked free and floated around him like a shimmering smoke, giving him an otherworldly appearance. He seemed to hold to Celebrían like a lifeline. Eärendil realized with a pang that his son was pale and ill. The light of his spirit shone through his pallid features. It was an unusual light – unmistakably of the Peredhil- yet somehow unique.
"He will not want to meet you." Doubt crept into his mind. Arafinwë had brought a single letter from Elrond to them at the end of the first age. It was short and awkward, written in a slightly trembling hand. It was not the confident script that they saw later in his books. No other letters came. "But you did not send any either." His conscience rebuked. Over the years, friends gifted them many of their son's books. A precious few were originals, written in the precise and flowing hand of this son, who they did not know. He watched as Elrond turned back to greet two small children. Nay, not children! One was white and aged. They were the hobbits that had found and then destroyed Sauron's ring. Eärendil could not help but gape as Elrond introduced them to Celebrían. The white wizard looked directly at him and smiled slyly.
"Why do you not greet us?" Olórin's voice rang in his head. But at that moment, Prince Falmatar drew Elrond and Celebrían forward.
"Welcome Lord Elrond Peredhel, son of Lord Eärendil and Lady Elwing, descendent of our brother Elwë," Olwë announced.
"My son," Eärendil added mentally, although truth be told, he had not had time for the little boys when he was in Sirion. His soul had been stirred by the quest for a passage West, even as his parents had undertaken the same journey only a few years before. Somehow, he knew this was his sojourn – his destiny to go before the Valar to make them aware of how dire things had become. That driving quest had haunted him every day he was not at sea, every day of the precious few he had spent with his young sons. How had they ended their one letter to their sons? "We pray that you will live happy lives. Perhaps someday you may find it in your hearts to forgive us." In his mind, he saw the five-year-olds playing on the beach. Elros, always the more mischievous one, carried a bucket of seawater nonchalantly. Elrond cried, affronted as the water poured down on his head instead of in the moat that was prepared. The child in his memory merged into the figure before him. Yet, this figure greeting Arafinwë and Eärwen was a regal Lord, Healer and Lore Master. What claim did Eärendil have?
Someone jostled him as the crowd pushed forward towards the carriages. Where had he been? Had he been lost in thought as the world again spun by? He touched his brow, expecting to feel the warmth of the Silmaril, but he and the Valar agreed it was best to set the flaming jewel far away in the endless sky. Its proximity had changed them. They were sick for much of the last year – sick with longing, nausea, and chills. He still felt lightheaded at times. This earth beneath his feet seemed too solid. The air was too thick. His mind brought up the comforting ether in which his ship once sailed, in which he had fought the evils of Melkor. Afterwards, his duties had shifted. "Watch, observe, and report." Those had been his orders. The things he had seen! Kings crowned. Forests burned. Lands flooded. People diligently built towns and tamed the land. Cities rose from the desert and fell as orcs and darkness flooded the land. Great battles raged. A granddaughter married a descendent of Elros and ushered in a new age.
"What did he say?" Elwing trembled as she touched him. He blinked dazedly. She stood alone on the sparsely populated pier. Everyone had left. How long had he been here?
"I did not speak with him." Eärendil pulled her close.
"Oh, Eärendil," she rested her head against his. They were dressed in the simple garb of the Teleri. He was bright and golden like most mariners of this Haven. Only her dark hair gave them away. "Perhaps it is for the best." Change was hard to deal with. Eärendil had been a servant of the Valar for three ages while Elwing had governed their settlement at Gwaelindë.
"Come tell me about him." She coaxed him back towards the beach house where they were staying. Olwë had been surprised by their request to arrive unofficially. He tried to persuade them. But in the end, he agreed to let the Peredhil stay anonymously in the shell cottage, a favorite hideaway of the royal family.
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"Aran Arafinwë, Adar of my Lady Galadriel," the persistent Elleth's voice added more reverence to the later part of her greeting as she curtsied before him. He was about to enter the carriage but paused as he realized this must be one of Galadriel's Handmaidens.
"I have sworn to my Lord Celeborn to speak with you privately upon our arrival." Green, self-confident, and ancient eyes met his squarely. Nay, this was no handmaiden but one of the noble Ladies of Lothlórien. She held out a leather satchel. "These are his letters. We should meet soon. Keep surprises to a minimum and allow my Lady a private retreat. I know we all have her best interests in mind." He blinked at the implied orders.
"You will join her, Lady?" He paused and waited for an introduction. The power and knowledge in her eyes marked her as an elf of the first age.
"Faelthel," she paused as if holding back something. "Sacrifices were necessary to keep many safe."
"You are the only one from Lothlórien?" He realized even as he knew it was unwise to ask for more details in public.
"She sent the others to Tol Eressëa." Faelthel curtsied. "Your carriage awaits my Lord." Arafinwë watched her move towards the healer's carriage. He hid the leather satchel under his formal robes and turned toward his wife, who was beckoning to him.
"Meet Olwe's seneschal tomorrow morning. I will come." He ordered.
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"Give us some privacy." Celebrían's voice was soft, but the order was implicit. She had precious few moments alone with her husband. The healers urgently suggested surgery. Yet, the survival rate was slim. Elrond, bone weary after the emotional arrival at the Haven, dozed at times under the healer's assessment, while at other times, he spoke to Mistress Idhrendes from Lorien and Silsilalda about Frodo's hurts and injuries.
"We will check back in an hour." Master Tarwatirno advised. "Summon us immediately should he be in distress." Celebrían watched them file out under Cirulian's watchful eyes. The warrior had guarded her husband for as long as she could recall.
"Meleth-nin," Celebrían whispered as her hand crept under the blanket to his naked chest. "How could the loving heart that beat inside be so damaged? How am I to know which path to take when all seem to risk your life?" He breathed in deeply at her touch – both her physical and mental touch. Weary silver eyes blinked open. They widened in amazement and reverence when he recognized her.
"Is it you?" He breathed softly as if he believed her a figment of his imagination.
"I am here, Meleth-nin." She kissed him and ran her fingers through his hair. They warned that the healing draught could be disorienting.
"Eru has blessed me. Finding you well and recovered was all I ever prayed for." Elrond whispered as she leaned over to caress him. She felt his thoughts turn towards the future. Usually, they would reveal some of his hopes and dreams, but his thoughts turned towards a blinding light and the whisper of the wind.
"You belong to us." The wind rattled the glass door to the balcony. Her heart quaked as she realized that he felt his end was near. For a fleeting moment, she felt a rush of adrenaline and excitement entwined with the breathtaking freedom of flying with the wind. It was quickly quashed as Elrond fought for control. Perspiration beaded on his brow as he ordered the wind away.
"Beloved?" She questioned as the vision of him lost in the wind surfaced.
"Although much was saved and protected with Celembrior's rings, in using Vilya, its power delved too far into my spirit," Elrond admitted. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. "So little time left to spend with you. But it is much more than I dared to hope for."
"No, beloved. Do not think that way." She kissed him. "There will be much more to come." Earlier in the day, he had tried to share some of his memories of their children. But he had only the strength to share images of Arwen's wedding. It was bittersweet. Idril and Tuor had been deeply concerned by her tears earlier that afternoon.
"I have been blessed with over six thousand years." He whispered in a voice that shook with emotion. "With such an amazing, intelligent and beautiful wife and wonderful children. They are well, Meleth-nin. They send their love and letters. Cirulian and Erestor will bring the letters and paintings. Celeborn had Rúmil sketch many scenes from the wedding. I never guessed he had a talent for drawing. Elrohir sent sketches as well. I saw scenes from Arwen's possible future and twice glimpsed our Grandson, Eldarion. Please, let me share them with you."
"Only if you draw more strength through me through our bond." Celebrían waited for him to promise. Then azure eyes met silver, melding and blending into one as they recalled the smiling curly-haired boy who played hide and seek in the lush gardens of Imladris.
"A gift from Eru." Arwen smiled as she sat content in her husband's arms. Celebrían did not hear most of the conversation, so enamored was she by the image of her daughter and son-in-law. She could sense the strength of their bond and the depth of their love. There was no denying that this union was Valar blessed. She nearly cried out when Arwen leaned forward and hugged her. These were Elrond's memories. "Give our love to Naneth." She looked through Elrond's feelings as he saw the shining faces of her daughter and son-in-law. There was a deep pride as he realized the extraordinary potential of the regal couple. They would leave their mark on the world. From the perspective of elves, it was like a shooting star – fleeting but breathtaking. From the standpoint of men, it would be long remembered, ageless as the white stones of Minith Tirith or as the impressive gateways of Cirdan's Gray Havens. They would accomplish much, bringing peace and prosperity. His pride and awe were tinged with the knowledge that they had lost her – left Arwen and Estel to a separate life in the world of men. These images and the history that their sons would someday bring, Eru permitting, were what they must now be content with. Pain brought her back to herself. But it was not pain of her body but that of the heart of her beloved.
"Cirulian!" She was dizzy as she sat up too quickly.
"Dear heart, the healers are here." Tuor helped steady and guide her to a chair next to the bed. She turned to see the healer from Lorien with one hand on Elrond's brow and the other on his chest. She was singing softly but rhythmically. Celebrían frantically scanned the room for Tarwatirno, the healer who had often assisted her during her healing process.
"Master Tarwatirno is tending to the hobbits. He said that Lady Idhrendes is more knowledgeable on heart ailments." Tuor explained. They both knew that this type of injury was one that no elven healer had successfully fixed by surgery. A wild notion took Celebrían.
"Did my grandfather already seek out the Valar?"
"As far as I know Olwë was planning on attending them tonight."
"Then I have little time to prepare." She stood quickly then turned to Tuor and his wife. "Will you stay? He should not be left alone."
"We will be honored to stay with him." Idril's smile was like the sun.
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"Come rest," Eärwen called to her daughter's mind. "Your Grandfather will delay the meeting with the Valar. There is time." Her daughter turned those powerful azure eyes towards her. She was surprised to see their weariness and decided with a mother's heart.
"Excuse us for a time," Eärwen called to her Adar and husband, who were speaking with Mithrandir, Olórin's strange incarnation. She did not wait for a response just clasped her daughter's arm and drew her from the room.
"Do you wish for us to introduce you as Galadriel when we return to Tirion? Many have chosen to use new epesse upon their return from Middle Earth or Mandos." Her daughter's eyes gave away little, but she could sense a numbing weariness.
"Will we return to Tirion?" The beloved voice sounded otherworldly.
"Not soon." She paused with sudden foresight. "At least not all of us. Your Adar must return within a fortnight. An Epesse bestowed by a beloved husband will be quickly accepted. "
"And you?" Galadriel left the other question unanswered.
"It has been ages since I had a daughter to care for. I treasured the painting of you and Celeborn that your Adar brought back after the war." Indeed, she had cried at seeing the young couple and the wonderful portraits of her sons from Nargothrond.
"Maengwen is an amazing artist."
"She captured the love between the two of you. Seeing that made me love him too, even though we have not yet met."
"You will love him," Galadriel said with certainty. The guards bowed as they passed into the family wing.
"Guards?" She detected an undercurrent of surprise. Once the guards were out of sight, she spoke.
"Things have changed since you were away. We have changed too. Just like you, Galadriel, my strong and wise daughter. We have all tasted both joy and much sorrow." They paused at the door to the suite, which was ever reserved for Eärwen and her family. "Rulers are obligated ever to be pillars of strength. Yet, you can let your guard down here among your beloved family. We know your strength and would support you in your need." She opened the door and motioned for Galadriel to enter first. If any were watching, they would have seen the ethereal Lady of Light disappear from the corridor into the chamber. None would have guessed that a moment later utter shock would paint her lovely features.
"It is good to see you, sister mine." Finrod greeted her softly. The next moment, she was in his arms. Her golden head was buried under his chin as memories assaulted her. She had sensed his pain over the last weeks of his life as well as his suffering and death in Tol-in-Gaurhoth. He was now a perfect image of strength and beauty. How could she resolve the two in her mind?
"I am here. All is well." He grimaced as he perceived her thoughts. His words spurred silent tears as she relived the loss of her beloved brother. Her world dissolved into sorrow and white heat. He caught her as she went limp in his arms.
"Galadriel!" Celeborn's whisper of worry came from a far distance."
"Galadriel!" Finrod called in unison. His worry was nearly as great as swung her gently up and carried her to the settee. Eärwen caressed her daughter's head as Findaráto, who would always be her Findaráto. He took Artanis' hand and began to sing a healing song of renewal learned among the trees of Lorien. The power of his song was much greater than most elves, calming even Eärwen's spirit. As she studied her two children, she was struck by their majesty and intensity. A sudden insight showed her that their experience and wisdom would be needed in the tumultuous times ahead. This new age would see Aman swell with a great number of arrivals. Elves came as immigrants, refugees, as well as those reborn or re-embodied.
"Amme?" Finrod squeezed her hand.
"What do you sense?" Eärwen needed his insight. She saw him hesitate. That was telling.
"She is in healing sleep. We should speak with Adar and Tarwatirno. I fear it will take time and care in Lorien."
"Time we have." Eärwen smiled, and the effect on her son was immediate. "Time and each other."