Xxxxxxx Lórien xxxxxxxX
"It hurts." Frodo was shaking, the pain finally overwhelming his formidable will. A single tear slipped down his cheek but was quickly hidden. "Please, can you give me something?"
"You must not let it get to this point. We need not proceed so quickly." The healer crushed some herb and plunged it into the steaming water. The bright, familiar smell of Athelas filled the room. It did not remove the pain but strengthened Frodo's reserves so he could bear his pain more easily. The healer placed his hand over Frodo's bandaged one. The slight pressure caused the hobbit to cry out. Yet shortly, Tarwatirno's healing strength eased the tender nerve endings, and the hobbit breathed a sigh of relief. This healing session had been challenging for the young hobbit. "Here, Frodo, lie back and let the Athelas soothe you. I will not do any more until you have taken a draught for pain. I find patients should let their minds wander to a memory that gives them joy. Was there a special place that was always the site for happy celebrations?"
"The party tree," Frodo's voice was strained.
"Can you share, or if you prefer not to share, can you focus on a special happy time you had around the party tree?" Frodo closed his eyes and tried to call to mind such a time. It was difficult at first as the thrum of pain chased away his resolve, but as Athelas' steady fragrance washed over him, he drew the memory protectively around him like a cloak against the wind. Tarwatirno guided the draught into Frodo's hands. The hobbit blew across the steaming brew and slowly sipped as the healer sat down beside him.
"My favorite party was Bilbo's one hundred and tenth birthday." He admitted softly, his voice steady now. "It was nowhere as grand as Bilbo's one hundred and eleventh party, but it was more special to me. My cousins came a week early on the pretense of helping with the preparations. What a time we had! To think that dear Bilbo had the patience to deal with all of us young hobbits! I think we put his cellar and vitals in serious jeopardy. But Bilbo just laughed and told us," Frodo paused and then continued to imitating his uncle. "I managed to survive thirteen dwarves,"
"A few hobbit lads are as a walk in the park. That was quite a week, as I remember!" Bilbo laughed and hobbled over to his nephew. Frodo reached for his uncle with his free hand as the elder hobbit whispered conspiratorially. "I had also had such a week in my youth. I was fortunate to pass on such an experience to you young fellows."
"You remember!" Frodo sent a prayer of thanks to Eru. His uncle's memory had markedly improved during their stay in Lórien. The healers said that while the wonders of Aman could not take away the 'Gift of Ilúvatar' nor reverse the effects of aging on his body, it would ease Bilbo's pain and clear his mind. That his uncle should have some years left with clear cognitive functions was a great balm to Frodo. Bilbo's eyes, though, were scrutinizing Frodo's bandaged hand.
"Who would have dreamed that elves could learn to regrow a digit! The wonders of this land will never cease to amaze me!" Bilbo declared.
"They warned me. But I had not thought such a small finger could cause such pain." Frodo confided softly and was duly embarrassed when Tarwatirno replied. He needed to take into account acute elven hearing.
"I am sorry for that, Frodo. But be assured that you are more than halfway through."
"In a few months, this will be all over. You will be glad not to have a missing finger as a constant reminder of dark times." Bilbo pointed out. Then, reacting to Frodo's dark look, he turned the conversation. "I wonder if Merry still has that trophy marking Pippin's most terrible evening?" Frodo looked up, flabbergasted that his Uncle knew about young Pippin's misfortune. They had all tried to cover for the foolish escapade.
"Of course, I knew. Eglantine gave me an earful with her warning of her son's, shall we say, Tookish ways. She would not have allowed Pippen to stay without my oath to provide adequate supervision to keep her son from an untimely demise."
"An untimely demise!" Frodo nearly spit out his tea. His Uncle cheerfully relayed the tale from a perspective Frodo had never anticipated. Tarwatirno, watched as Frodo smiled contentedly at Bilbo's story and finally drifted off into healing sleep.
"I think your stories are the best medicine." Tarwatirno helped Bilbo rise.
"Is it always so painful? I have heard stories of many warriors who sailed after losing a limb."
"Nerves are unpredictable. The regeneration seems to have inflamed the ulnar nerve. The draughts that are effective in elves seem to act differently upon hobbits."
"He should not have to suffer." Bilbo declared. "Not after all he has been through."
"Fear not, we will find the right combination of draughts to ease Frodo's pain. The new draught we tried already appears more effective, though perhaps in combination with your stories. I hope you have more to tell."
"Stories I know in abundance. Never fear!" Bilbo laughed.
Xxxxxxxx Edlothdor xxxxxxxxxX
"Fair well until next time." Dior's spirit sang. Elrond sang him well wishes in parting. After the song faded, he sat long in the quiet mist. He knew his body remained in the glade, seemingly asleep under the watchful eyes of his wife's uncle. But here, in meditation, he could reflect on the love that filled his soul. So many close to him seemed focused on aiding and promoting his healing. He rejoiced even as he felt unworthy of their love and attention.
"Thank you, dear Ilúvatar." He felt so blessed and humbled by the love shown to him. For so long, his purpose had been clear. "Dear Eru, please guide me." He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. The dreamscape in which Dior tutored him disappeared. Sound shifted. A cool zephyr caressed his soul. Its soft whispers, nearly noiseless, were beyond his understanding, yet waves of comfort undulated through his fëa. He embraced the silence. For in the stillness, perchance, the will of the One might softly be revealed. Soft colors of muted grays and whites shifted and flowed about him akin to the songs of a gentle breeze. Slowly, reality and the world around him seeped into his consciousness. Birds were singing in the canopy above. In the distance, he heard the rush of water as the river bounded over rocks in its way. A gentle hand removed the circlet and guided wayward hair back behind his ear. A cool cloth wiped beads of perspiration from his brow. The strong Maia melody in Dior's fëa still burned, though his grandfather was no longer near. Despair filled him at the prospect of encountering so many Maiar in Lórien. A vibrant, strong soul enfolded him in warmth and love.
"Time we have in abundance. There is no rush to meet them." Her encouragement broke through his momentary despair. Celebrian was his light and tether to this world. How strong she had become! How much he relied on her strength!
"As you should. You need only to focus on healing." She watched carefully as Elrond slowly awakened. She barely held back a sigh when his silver eyes cleared. "Welcome back Meleth-nin." His aura was calm. She was heartened by the slow but noticeable improvement. Brushing his cheek lightly, she perceived his silent prayer.
"Thank Eru, you are well." His long fingers were callused from an age of sword use and scented by ages preparing healing herbs and teas. Joy rose in her as those long fingers curled around her own. He was still too thin for her liking, yet she resolved to remedy that.
"I am well, and you will also be in time. You placed yourself in my care. There is no need for you to make decisions. You only need to focus on healing and draw strength from me and those loved ones returned." She coaxed a smile from him as she bent closer to whisper some suggestive words in his ear. She laughed as he stiffened. He was suddenly aware of what she already knew. They were not alone here. Many curious eyes studied them from afar.
"Thank you for waiting, Meleth." His thoughts were shared wordlessly, and his thanks were not limited to these last hours. "Someone watches?"
"Multiple people." Celebrian smiled wryly. Her grandfather and great-grandfather lurked unseen, standing next to Galathil, who was guarding them. Born in Cuiviénen, Elmo had seen too much and, unlike his famous brothers, was content to live a quiet, unassuming life. His son, Galahad, had mixed feelings about Lúthien's descendants. Time would change that, Celebrian was certain. How could they not but love her husband? She vowed not to force her Daeradar to meet him too soon. Galahad would come when he was ready.
"What do you hide from me?" Elrond's senses gradually focused. Celebrian deftly turned the subject.
"Did your guide say ought of Dior's future?" She redirected his thoughts. They shared the secret that Dior Eluchil would soon grace Lórien with his presence.
"He is exceedingly nervous but soon will claim a hröa." Elrond replied, taking solace in knowing that Dior had recovered his will to live through teaching. A vision of one of Elrond's early teachers flashed through their bond. She saw through Elrond's eyes as he focused his healing on the angry red scar burned by the Silmaril that had been preserved for thousands of years by Maglor's guilt and regret. She felt the anguish in Elrond's heart as Elwing's anger, Eärendil's pain, and Dior's words surfaced in a cacophony of memories. "It will hurt them, but I promised to deliver." His soul rang with grief as he was at a loss as to how to heal others. "So many are yet in such need!"
"Stop, Meleth-nin." She admonished. "Do not claim responsibility. They are not your patients, and you are not their healer. All will be well in time." Then her tone turned stern, mimicking the imperious tone of her Naneth, although laughter lit her aura. "You are the patient here! I will not allow you to travel unless I determine that you have healed enough. I will make all the plans."
"Have I no say?" Elrond's brow lifted in question.
"None! For you must learn to let go of responsibilities. You have other duties." She smiled and pointed to the left. A perception of amusement through their bond was the only warning Elrond received before a small whirlwind of an Elfling jumped into his arms. "Duties to rest, love, laugh and play."
"Uncle 'rond! Uncle Elrond! You are awake! You sleep too long! I had to wait!" Gilwen clamored higher in his arms to reach for one of his braids. "Ada said you would show me the fish. He said," Here she paused, obviously confused by one of Adar's words. "He said the fish would come to you!" An elegant eyebrow curved upwards. The child shrieked gleefully, then traced his brow with her finger. Celebrian laughed and stroked the golden curls. Longing, love, and regret bubbled up in her for her children, both natural and adopted. Perhaps, they would never see Arwen, Elrohir, and Elladan again. But the precious memories would thankfully never fade. She pushed the despair away before Elrond could sense it. Never had they turned away any in need. Their nontraditional family was exceedingly large. She focused on the joy that these little treasures from Eru brought.
"Aunt Celebree, can we go now?" Gilwen cried happily as Elrond stood and lifted her. Celebrian steadied him.
"Shall we go?" Celebrian motioned. Ereinion and Indiriel walked towards them hand in hand.
"I hear you make good bait." Ereinion smiled wryly. "For wolves and fish, among other things."
"What?" Elrond feigned affront. "From whence do such rumors spring?" He looked around for Cirulian, but his longtime friend and guard was nowhere in sight. Surely, the loyal Teler would not divulge such tales!
"Alfiriniel lives in a settlement to the east. The lands there are a little more wild." Ah, the tale indeed sprang from Alfiriniel or Orodiun.
"And Oropher?" Elrond whispered. He had known Oropher, his wife, and his family since the first age. His son Rúmdir had been mortally wounded in the War of Wrath. While he had spent the last few minutes by Rúmdir's side, he could do naught but ease his friend's passing.
"Oropher has been returned for some time. He still dislikes me, though he tries to be civil." Ereinion added cheekily. "Rúmdir is with them, as are Calimdriel and Orodiun."
"Eru be praised." Awe filled Elrond's words and he felt Celebrian's love flow through their bond. He winced as Gilwen pulled on his hair as a reminder. One braid was already half undone. The little one would have both braids out before long and have him looking inappropriately casual.
"Nay, Scandalous!" Celebrian laughed in his mind and settled her hand around his waist. He currently had arms full of a wriggling child.
"Go! Go to see the fish." Gilwen ordered indignantly.
"Of course, my Lady. Please forgive me for keeping you waiting." Elrond smiled heartily. Gilwen melted against him as she giggled.
"You always had a good rapport with children." Indiriel sighed at the memories. Elrond's eyes softened with love. These two wonderful elves sheltered and fostered him in Lindon ages ago.
"And we were blessed to do so." Indiriel sensed his thoughts and laughed as Elrond blushed.
"Your cheeks are red." Gilwen's little hands covered the color as she chattered about a beloved doll with red cheeks. It would still take time and healing before the former Lord of Imladris and bearer of Vilya could adequately shield his mind from his kin.
"Aye, but all his kin are powerful in their own right." Ereinion agreed with his wife as they crossed over the small stream and meandered to where it emptied into the lake. They both enjoyed watching their daughter interact with Elrond. "Each kingdom will vie for the prestige of counting the famous Peredhil as its own. He is not ready for it."
"No, he is not." Indiriel agreed. "Neither of them is ready. Celebrian still keeps a low profile, though her artisanship has brought her fame. Perhaps other Peredhil will return to the limelight to alleviate some clamor."
"Elwing and Eärendil do not have the diplomacy their son has." Ereinion contemplated their dear friends.
"He was pressed to develop those skills to balance you!" Indiriel laughed. Celebrian looked over to them, her wistful expression turning to curiosity at their laughter.
"How many little ones did you and Elrond foster?" Indiriel asked aloud, keen to keep the conversation positive. Ereinion squeezed her hand and replied wordlessly.
"I hope our Gilwen brings them more joy than sorrow. Arwen yet lives and may enjoy a son or daughter of her own, Eru willing." Indiriel gave thanks that her own daughter was safe with elves.
"We helped who was in need whenever they arrived in Imladris." Celebrian's eyes were suspiciously bright. Elrond smiled and whispered something to Gilwen.
"How indeed could death be a gift? It is difficult for elves to fathom, though having battled balrogs, orcs, and worse, Glorfindel and Finrod might understand it as a gift." Their conversation was interrupted by a shriek.
"He kissed me!" Gilwen pulled her hand out of the water, stamped her foot, and imperiously commanded. "Go away, fishy!" The silver fish darted back towards Elrond as she studied the affected digit. Finally satisfied that no harm had been done, she turned to other questions. The little school was darting around Elrond's toes. "Why do the fish do that?"
"They are hoping for a treat." Elrond passed Gilwen a piece of bread. Celebrian's head rested on Elrond's arm.
"They need time alone to mourn." Indiriel motioned towards the couple. Ereinion could feel waves of emotion swirling about them. Perhaps Gilwen had tipped the balance. Maybe they should be left alone.
"No, not completely alone; that would do more harm than good. I cannot fathom how one copes with such a loss. Yet, they will not cease sharing their love and care even though the losses compile." Ereinion motioned to his friends to move as he whisked his daughter into his arms.
"Ada!" Gilwen happily exclaimed. "See my bread. I will feed the fish!"
"Come, my heart, which fish should we gift a treat to first?" Ereinion smiled wryly as his daughters' shrill response caused the fish to scatter momentarily.
Xxxxxxx
Galadhon could not help but be moved by the scene before him. The descendent of Lúthien was perplexing. By bearing, he seemed a Noldor, yet his sensibilities and awareness of the forest were reminiscent of his Doriath roots. Still, nearly no one of Doriath was present for his upbringing.
"Why this persistence?" Elmo startled his son.
"You came." Galadhon's eyes widened as he basked in the shadow of his Adar. Long it had been since Elmo ventured forth from his glade.
"Word has reached me of these," Elmo paused as he saw Elrond and Celebrian sleeping under the great Oak's gentle care. His grandson Galathil stood in the shadows, a watchful but likely unnecessary guard. There was no mistaking the deep hum that signaled the tree's deep respect for these slumbering souls.
"Of our kin." Galadhon supplied. "Celebrian is my granddaughter, and Elrond is."
"I know his heritage. You need not remind me." Elmo tersely interrupted.
"Galathil thinks highly of them both." Galadhon fought down a smug smile that threatened to break across his face.
"For all that, he avoids his own granddaughter." Elmo's tone was gruff.
"Elwing remained at Gwaelindë out of duty and necessity." Galadhon offered. "Galathil visited her regularly."
"But you did not travel there," Elmo raised his brow and sighed. She is an odd bird if rumors are to be believed."
"One would think you would give little heed to rumors. Galathil said one cannot discount the horrors that filled her early life and affected her ability to open up to others. She is a capable ruler."
"Her son had a difficult childhood, yet by all accounts seems not to have such issues."
"Celebrian declares that love was shown to him when he needed it most - in Sirion, Amon Ereb and Mithlond. Her influence on him healed him, allowing him to lead Imladris and instill tolerance in many.
"Peace!" Elmo threw up his hands in defeat. "I will meet them. You may tell Galathil that we will meet them together."