Xxxxxxxxx Edlothdor xxxxxxxxxX
They shared many visits to Celebrian's studios over the next few weeks. Elrond happily crushed plants and extracted pigments for her paints. At the same time, Celebrian thoughtfully went through her work, picking out several from each stage of her artistic development for the upcoming retrospective. The tales of the early years of their separation were gradually shared in whispers and images. Slow and painful years of recovery were experienced not only by her but also by her husband, children, and parents, she thought with chagrin.
"I am so sorry," Celebrian grieved. "I naively imagined you would not need me, that you would be better off once you stopped spending all your strength on me."
"It was not your fault." His soul cried. "It is I who failed to keep you safe… failed to heal."
"You were not at fault." She reprimanded him gently.
"You were always the lynchpin, the force and optimism. The sun that warmed, brightened, and encouraged ….. Our world was a pale copy without you." His love surrounded her. He could not help but feel her denial. "No, you are worthy of it and more."
She made a mental note to thank Erestor, Glorfindel, and Silsi again for being there for her family when she could not be. Her Arwen took so long to recover, wandering forlornly in Lothlorien! Her sons! No, Elrond had said they were all well in the end. They had learned to deal with loss and regret and had grown wiser. It was all she could do to hold back her longing to delve again into his memory of Arwen's wedding. She looked at her husband, realizing he had not caught her thoughts. He shivered convulsively. Instinctively, she moved beside him. The painting he studied was abstract, with swirls dark and forbidding like thunderstorm clouds.
"It is one of my early attempts – quite amateurish with the wide brush strokes." A vision of her unsteady and untrained hand grasping the large brush too tightly flashed before her.
"Therapy," He whispered, recalling a conversation on the beach not long after his arrival.
"You were so far away. Yet I yearned for you." She pointed to a bright spot in the upper left. "Tis your voice imploring me to come away. I knew you were with me through the worst of it." Her voice hitched. "You saw… and aided me through the horror and on to the first healing. But then our connection was broken."
"You were nearly at Mandos' door. Twas your strength that kept you from passing through." Guilt tinged his beloved voice. I would have given anything to keep you safe. Would that our places had been reversed!
"And always the thought that I would find you – that you were reaching out to me to breach the darkness." She brushed a tear from his cheek. He remembered those difficult days when he thought he had lost her. So still had she lain, gaunt and lifeless on their bed, while the birds still sang outside, calling them to life. He had known she was still trapped in that nightmare. "Your light did reach me. This is what it felt like." She opened focused on their love. Their bond was strong and renewed.
"We faced those challenges and are blessed to be together, thank Eru. I find I need to get to know again this talented artist and this amazing Elleth, who, by some stroke of luck, is also my wife." Two sets of hands pressed together as a dark-framed forehead tipped forward to touch the silver one.
"Thanks to Eru's blessings." Their prayers were one, moving from gratitude for their healing and reunion to sudden awareness of Eru's presence. Peace profoundly wound and enfolded them as their two souls mingled in mind, memories slipping out to be shared from their time apart.
"Both your souls needed healing." The Great Mother's voice gently enfolded her as she sobbed aside the beautiful lake Lorellin. The physical and mental breaches of her ordeal – the schism in their bond had left scars on them both. "My Elu and I have to heal separately for a time. One must turn inward to regain balance, and then you must do the final healing together."
The scene shifted to a precipice jutting out near Imladris's highest water falls. Tears from his eyes mixed with the driving rain. The sky above was as dark as the schism in his heart. "The sun is gone, and my starts have fled. I do not blame them. I could not give them the care they needed."
He swirled a thick, silvery liquid. His soul faltered from the precise cut of Sauron's evil. It sought ever for the fatal blow. "Your mind has hidden this evil away to protect itself. But the hidden wound festers. Healer, you must open and acknowledge it, before it can be cleansed and heal."
"I want to know everything about you." One of them whispered. The other mirrored the sentiment with all their heart. "All your joys and heartaches, your loves and your fears." Mutual respect, acceptance, and love swirled in their joined auras.
Xxxxxxxxx Cottage Kitchen in Lorien xxxxxxxxxX
"Which flour did you use for these?" They tested flours and yeasts from several providers to perfect their recipes. The flour's sources had a marked effect on the aurcrams. This morning, they tested four additional flours produced from three areas around Tirion and one from outside Alqualondë.
"Do you prefer the ones on the left?" Elwing questioned, although she knew well the answer. "Those were prepared with the flour from Alqualondë." Still, it was amazingly satisfying to hear Bilbo's descriptions and see how his spirit flooded with joy. Is this the joy Elrond feels as he watches people heal?
Frodo could not hide his smile. So, he kept his head down. He suspected Elwing's question was one she knew the answer to. The younger hobbit kept his attention firmly on gently kneading the dough. His newly grown digit ached with such exertion. Only Bilbo would prescribe cooking as physical therapy!
"Yes, indeed. They are much more flaky." Bilbo reached over to break one in half to demonstrate. "They also melt in your mouth like butter! They are even better than those from last week."
"You are sure all the other steps were carried out the same?" Elwing looked doubtful.
"Of course, we were quite scientific." Earendil laughed as he lifted a forkful of pickled radishes to his mouth. "The same quantity and coolness of butter." They had tested different butters last week.
"The same amount of sugar, baking powder, and milk." Frodo added. "And exactly the same amount of flour."
"These on the end are just too tough and rose to a larger volume." Bilbo broke one in half and lifted it to his mouth. "No, these are not good at all."
"The best this week is the flour from Fernalin outside Alqualondë." Earendil picked up the quill to make note of their findings.
"The other two are fine, but just not quite as flaky. I do declare we have a winner!"
"We should do a bake-off with the other two winners," Frodo suggested.
"I am surprised because all these four samples come from the same wheat variety." Elwing puzzled. Melian hovered at the edge of the room, trying to determine if she should take physical form. Her great-granddaughter sent an amused greeting.
"Good morning, Daernaneth. Frodo and Bilbo are much improved. Will you join us?"
"Later, Lord Irmo has other tasks for me."
"The time of waiting is nearly over." Elwing's spirit flared with joy. There was definite progress in healing, although much more was left to do. The marks of the Silmaril ran deep, as did the gaping holes from the loss of her loved ones. Melian gifted her a last thought before spiriting away: "Soon, you will have other relationships to nurture."
"Yet, the soil could be quite different, and the milling methods must play a role." Earendil mused, unaware of the Maia's fleeing visit.
"I believe we will perfect our aurcram recipes by the time Master Elrond arrives." Bilbo took the other half of the one he had tested and sat down with his tea. "Now that we have a perfect plain version, what sweet or savory versions should we try next?"
Earendil looked up from where he sat, reading at the table. His wife immediately felt his wish.
"No, you can get your own pickled vegetables. They smell terrible and should not be included in aurcrams!" She joked, enjoying Bilbo's laugh and Earendil's wry smile. The Mariner had cut, salted, and steeped different varieties of cucumbers, radishes, and carrots in a series of strange pickling mixtures. He favored recipes that were exceeding spicy and pungent.
"Like Father like son." Bilbo's revealed. Aurcram with spicy pickles! Strange indeed, but maybe a pinch would be worth a try.
Xxxxxxxxx Edlothdor weeks later xxxxxxxxxX
"A pleasure to meet you." Elrond's voice was low and soft. Celebrian stepped forward into the slight pause to greet Nerdanel and her Adar. Nerdanel's signature wiry hair was a tad more brown than her Adar's but had startling red highlights. Apparently, Maedhros' hair was from his Daeradar.
"Please come join us for tea." She placed a reassuring hand on her husband's arm. They moved to comfortable chairs on their balcony. The tree's song was soothing. Yet melancholy brushed them as the breeze gusted unexpectedly. Celebrian quickly covered the tartlets and moved the little cart with refreshments to a more sheltered location. Her husband, startled at her quick movements, closed his eyes, visibly willing his spirit to be at peace. As if in response, the breeze gentled to swirl softly around them. Nerdanel and Mahtan exchanged a surprised glance. Rumors reached them that the Master of Imladris had wielded one of Celembrior's rings. Indeed, there was much more to that story.
"We grieve for all the hurts my sons inflicted on your family," Nerdanel said softly as she took a seat. How many times had she voiced such sentiments as Feanor's wife? But the sheen in Elrond's eyes held much different than the hard, cold looks that she typically received. Although she had read his long and gracious letter, this was still difficult to believe.
"What is it, Penneth?"
"You are exactly as he described." He choked out. His eyes radiated love and awe. He reached a trembling hand towards her. "May I?" She enfolded his fingers in her own. It was unsettling to read the emotions in his eyes.
"He is still recovering," Celebrian explained as a slight blush colored her husband's cheeks. She leaned over and put her arm around him. "I am looking forward to seeing your exhibition tomorrow. I heard rumors that you are working on a large sculpture for the gardens at Taniquetil. Did you bring any drawings with you? "
"No, but I thank you for catalyzing the commission," Nerdanil said knowingly, still holding Elrond's hand. She recognized his need to gather his thoughts.
"I did nothing." Celebrian blushed and, with easy grace, steered the conversation to give her husband a chance to recover. Nerdanel and Mahtan launched into an animated description of the sculpture.
"I promised that I would deliver these to your hands." Elrond passed a thick envelope to Nerdanel, then turned to deliver the second to Mahtan. Both were surprised by the size of their respective letters but made no move to open them. Makalaure's words were best savored in private.
"When did you see him?" Mahtan fingered the envelope slowly. "Was he well?"
"After the War of Wrath, I sought word of him. I used any chance to look for him. Once in a while, there was a rumor of a Singer wandering the shore. I believe he traveled further south, for I often traveled to help map the new lands and did not sense his presence."
"Sense his presence?" Nerdanel exclaimed in surprise. As far as she knew, only familial bonds enabled one to sense others, unless it was different for Peredhel.
"He saved us – saved me – in Amon Ereb. It was a near thing that I did not enter Mandos' Halls." Elrond whispered as Celebrian squeezed his shoulder in comfort. "He protected me as much as possible there and nurtured us."
"It was their fault you were there!"
"They were desperate times. Expelled from even their stronghold at Himring. Left in the forsaken lands with Morgoth and his minions ever a threat." Elrond eyes clouded with memories. "Some looked down upon us. It only natural having sunk so low, they held their prejudice close, taking solace in labeling others inferior in some way."
"That was not my teaching!" Nerandel cried.
"No," Elrond agreed. "Maglor told us your thoughts quite strongly… that you would not have stood for such opinions."
"I doubt he used those words." Nerdanel raised her brow. She had employed much less polished speech in those days. A faint smile from Elrond confirmed this.
"Nor would I." Mahtan emphatically agreed. "I threw the bastards out of my forge for such nonsense. Talent is not limited to only certain heritages. Finwe knew this until he allowed Valinor's comforts to blind him. These ideas emerged during the darkening."
"These same ideas trouble many societies yet today. Is it in our nature that such darkness takes root? Do the seeds of Morgoth lay dormant until troubled times?" Elrond shook his head slowly.
"It will arise here again as souls return from Mandos and those who sailed are slowly integrated into society." Mahtan saw it as the guilds chose new candidates for study. Jealousy was inflamed by today's fierce competition for scarce places.
"When did you meet Makalaure? When did he give you these letters?" Nerdanel held up her envelop.
"We were on our way to the Havens to sail, when I recognized a melody he used to sing with us. It woke me from sleep." Elrond focused on their meeting, which had been both a surprise and a blessing.
"You gave your minders the slip!" Celebrian exclaimed in amusement.
"He undoubtedly wanted to avoid some of the illustrious members of our entourage."
"It was quite a risk." Nerdanel fingered the envelope, realizing how lucky she was to have word from her son.
"I had hoped word of my searches for him might have reached him."
"Maglor wanted to apologize and say farewell." Celebrian realized.
"We called him Uncle in Amon Ereb. I did not realize that he would seek to stay away from us for our own protection. Why would the Valar declare, 'Not even the echo of your lamentations shall pass over the mountains'? Why lead people to believe there is no possible room for rehabilitation nor mercy?"
"They err even as we do, Penneth." Mahtan leaned forward. "It was not long after the exodus that we began petitioning the Valar. More of the Noldor have over the years, though few would openly admit."
"In Imladris, I maintained a network of people to seek out information."
"Spies?"
"We were fighting the long defeat. It was important to know what was happening in outter lands. Since the second age, I have heard of his endeavors to help and teach the second-born. He sought to make amends for the evil he had done. He seeks it still. But in his sorrow and deep remorse, somehow, his hand was prevented from healing. Perhaps also his spirit grew accustomed to it."
"The scar from the Silmaril still pains him? Six thousand years!" Nerdanel cried.
"It was as if it occurred recently."
"The Valar are not kind." Mahtan swore. "To chain such ever-present reminder to him for millennia."
"You forgave him. You healed him." Celebrian divulged.
"There was much healing, but I do not know if it has fully healed. I spent a night with him, but I learned much that gives me hope." Elrond focused his thoughts on Maglor. Had his sons found him?
"You think he will be allowed to come home?" Nerdandel dared to hope.
"Not yet. His skills are required." Elrond's voice took on an otherworldly tone. His eyes were unfocused. Celebrian automatically laid her hand on his shoulder to ground him. "Maglor and the Peredhil have a task to complete. They must shepherd those lost home." A glance from Celebrian was all it took for Nerdanel to stand.
"Where is the cordial?" Nerdanel looked about.
"The brown bottle on the bookshelf." Celebrian turned her focus to Elrond, who was pale and trembling slightly. "Breath slowly, Meleth." Mahtan moved to pull a blanket off the settee and drape it over Elrond's shoulders. Slowly, Elrond came back to himself, giving his wife a wain smile.
"Drink this, Penneth." Nerdanel was not fooled and passed the cordial. After the cordial, they settled Elrond on the settee, where he promptly slipped into sleep.
"We did not realize he is still ill." Mahtan whispered.
"He is on the mend," Celebrian assured them. "Meeting you both does his spirit much good. He will be disappointed that our conversation was interrupted. I hope you can talk with him more before you head home. The festival is always overwhelming."
"We will make time to come again," Nerdanel promised as she clutched the letter. "He has given us a great gift – the hope that at least one of my sons may return."
Xxxxxxxx Edlothdor xxxxxxxX
"Elrond's progressing. The ban on Maiar in Edlothdor helped him tremendously."
"Will he be harmed by their presence in Tirion and elsewhere?"
"Dior told him to expect a special visitor to address this." Tuor paused.
"Melian!" Idril knew implicitly. "That will surely be an interesting meeting! Yes, Dior has also had a hand in his healing. But I think your conversations about mathematics spurred his recovery, too." Her husband's smile warmed her heart. Interactions with their grandson were a blessing for them as well. Imladris had indeed been a repository of knowledge from throughout those eastern lands. The ideas Elrond had brought presented Tuor with some new problems and challenges.
"Yet, his health and nature are still in flux. It will be some time yet before he is truly healed." Tuor turned toward his wife, who suddenly paled.
"I did not expect you to …."
"Shhh - I know you did not. Put away that old fear." Tuor bent to kiss her cheek and brush back a wayward strand of her flax golden hair. His body had been partially remade in Lorien over many long years. He had been given a choice due to his service to their people and their great love. "I know you would not have demanded such a choice from me. I will be forever thankful that our love did not extract that cost from you. My spirit always yearned to be with yours; somehow, I was blessed with this fate. For, to see you with your kin, to experience the wonder of Valinor at your side, has been worth every difficulty." Unspoken were the trials and tribulations of that change, which had been painful beyond speaking.
"The act of sharing your memories will help him."
"I doubt it will be the same for him. Lorien changed my hroa so much that for a long time, I thought I had lost myself."
"Your reticence and shyness during those days reminded me of your first years in Gondolin." Idril smiled.
"It was disconcerting, to say the least."
"Yet, you did not take long to regain your balance."
"I had your love and support." He gently caressed her wrist. Idril drew in a breath. "You worry Elrond will have to endure such a change in Lorien?"
"Celebrian said his heritage from men had been greatly weakened when he arrived. The merging of the three kindreds in one person is a delicate balance. The sway of the mortal line is weakened."
"She divulged that Dior continued to aid in his recovery greatly. But she sensed his hroa and fae have a new balance. It will not be as with you. For you were once of fully of men."
"A whole new body of the Eldar was made for me."
"Though not easy, your spirit did not change." Love shined clearly in Idril's eyes.
"Ah, beloved, that is where you are wrong. Neither of us are the same. We change with time. Is it not true even of the Eldar that if one becomes static and loses interest, the hroa grows thin and the soul heeds the call?"
My experience likely bears little resemblance for what our grandson will feel, as his body and spirit are an amalgam of the three kindreds. Of his sons, I have even less idea."
"From what I hear of Elladan, he may have more trouble in this regard, for my sense is the blood of the Edain runs more strongly in him." Idril worried.
"If he comes." Tuor interrupted, but he smiled when his wife shook her head with certainty, for foresight was her gift.
"When they come." Her face suddenly lit with joy. "We will have great grandsons to spoil!"