Written for the ALEC "Thaw" themed competition where it won second place.

Many thanks to Fiondil for the beta.

Author’s Note: This story deals with re-embodied elves. I have patterned the behavior of the Reborn after the model presented by Fiondil in his stories (most notably Elf, Interrupted I and II and Finrod Diaries) where the Reborn take years to fully make the reconnection of body with spirit, moving from a child-like innocence to a more mature “adult” after their memories all return and they remember/relearn what life and society expect of them. If my Reborn at times seem a little naïve or childlike or out of character from what you would expect from canon depictions of their past lives leading up to their deaths, then you now know why. They are still immature as far as Reborn are concerned.

XXXXXXX

“Please, be still!”

“But, how can I? I just…All I said was…All…I just…Why?” He gestured frantically about, rising from the stone step in the alley only to be met by exasperated hands forcing him to sit back down once again.  “Why?” He looked about bewildered as tears suddenly appeared and dribbled a path through the blood on his face.

“Adar, please!  Be still so I can help you! Ada, please…” his son begged.

“Ecthelion, sit still so Electhel can tend to you,” his wife gently insisted.

Still gesturing about, the confused elf did as he was told.

Taking his hands in hers, his wife calmly asked, her melodic voice full of concern, “Who did this to you and why? You went into the house to speak with your atar. Did one of the servants accost you?”

“No, Elárië, I…” he whispered faintly, shaking his head much to his son’s consternation.  “I went in to speak to atar and he…”

“He was expecting you. He had to be. We sent him so many letters from Tol Eressëa telling him we were finally returning to Tirion and telling him about the baby soon to be added unto our family. Did no one recognize you? Not all of the servants left with us. Surely at least one of them remembered you?” Elárië asked.

Ecthelion flinched under his son’s ministrations. “Yes, the servants recognized and remembered me. The one who answered the door embraced me and welcomed me home again. But my atar, my atar…he…he was so angry. I was led to his study and left alone with him. He…he yelled at me, cursing me and my half-breed wife…” His wife and son both gasped and started at that.

“How dare he!” his son muttered through clenched teeth. “Naneth is of the House of the Golden Flower and King Ingwë’s own granddaughter.  He had no right to --”

But Ecthelion raised a hand and cut him off sternly. “Say nothing against your daeradar! I…I do not understand what has happened. But please say nothing against him. It is bad enough that he brings strife to our family. I cannot have you in conflict with him as well.”

“Certainly your amillë did not condone this. Or did she remain silent to appease him?” Elárië asked.

Ecthelion shook his head grimly. “She…she said nothing. My brother’s wife, however, shouted at me and cursed at me saying that if I had not left, things would not be as they are now. Then she spat at me!”

“What?!” his wife and son both exclaimed.

He nodded as he continued. “I told my atar of all I had done in King Turucano’s service. I told him I was a high lord of Vinyamar and of Gondolin and one of the two captains of Turucano’s army, leading ten thousand warriors into battle.  I told him I had acquitted myself well and with honor both in battle and as lord of the House of the Fountain. Then I told him how I died and how you died and our son Electhel survived and led our people well, bringing all who would go with him safely to the Havens at Sirion, and then to Balar, and at last to Tol Eressëa.”

“Adar, how could he not be proud of you?” Electhel exclaimed in dismay as he held one cloth to his adar’s cheek and another to stop the bleeding from his nose. “There are songs about you and what you have done. Surely he has heard them!”

His voice muffled by the cloth, Ecthelion replied, “He said none of that mattered for we who left were cursed and we all deserved to die. Then he backhanded me across the face, his ring slashing my cheek, and punched me in the face and in the stomach and told me he never wanted to see me again.”

Ecthelion put his hands on his wife’s shoulders, panic trembling in his voice. “Elárië, my love, we... we have no place to live now. I am no longer welcome in my atar’s home.”

“Ecthelion, what…what are we to do?” she asked worriedly, placing a protective hand across her swollen belly. “I cannot return to Tol Eressëa. I want our baby born here in Valinor.”

“I know,” Ecthelion whispered, placing his hand over his wife’s. “I know. I wish to remain here and raise our little one here as well.”

“What of Naneth’s daeradar? Would he welcome us?”

Sighing dejectedly, Ecthelion leaned back against his son who continued to hold the cloths in place to staunch the bleeding. “We sent him letters as well and he did not answer us either. Why should he welcome us when my own atar would not?”

“I am his only daughter,” Elárië said.

“And I am…was,” he choked on the words, “my atar’s eldest son and heir and look what he did to me.”

Bowing his head, Ecthelion continued bitterly, “Perhaps…perhaps none of the exiles have been welcomed back into the homes of their kin. What if we erred in selling our home on Tol Eressëa? We never should have come back here. At least there we had fair memories and hope that one day we could be reunited with our families. I would rather still have that than to know that I am no longer wanted, that I no longer matter to my kin.”

Elárië placed her fingers under his chin, raising his head to meet her gaze. “You matter to me. You matter to us.” His son bent and kissed the top of his head as she spoke. “I think we should try speaking with my atar.”

“Naneth is correct. We have nothing to lose in talking to him. I have faced certain defeat many times before, Ada, but I have never allowed myself to be defeated. We would be fools to give up before exploring all possibilities. And if Naneth’s kin here do not want us either, then we will go to her kin in Vanyamar or to your Naneth’s kin in the Southern Fiefdoms.”

After a few moments’ silence, Ecthelion acquiesced. “Very well then.  I have no hope left for us, so I will trust in your hope.”

“Thank you, Adar,” His son smiled encouragingly.

“But you need to start speaking Quenya rather than Sindarin if you wish to communicate with your kin.”

“I will, Adar…Atar. Though I do prefer Sindarin and you will always be my ada no matter what our kinsmen think.” His son smirked. “Besides I think that your name sounds so much better in Sindarin.”

“So do I,” Ecthelion agreed with an identical smirk of his own. “My atar would hear none of it, but that was to be expected I suppose. To him I will always be Cehtelion.”

“I prefer Ecthelion and I knew you before as Cehtelion,” his wife patted him on his uninjured cheek. “Though I adored Cehtelion, I love and admire even more the ellon that Ecthelion became.”

“Now, Atar, if you will be still and be silent, I will finish tending your injuries and we can be on our way.”

Giving a careful nod of acceptance, Ecthelion did as he was bid, his wife holding his hand through the stitches to help him keep from crying out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Early afternoon found the distraught family in the parlor of the Lord of the Golden Flower of Tirion, gratefully indulging in bread, cheese, and glasses of wine and juice. Ecthelion and Elárië rested side by side on a settee to the right of Lord Angaheru, while an embarrassed Electhel occupied the seat beside Lady Inairë, the grandmother who insisted on doting on him.

“Daughter, again, please do accept our apologies for not answering your letters,” Angaheru explained. “Your amillë and I have been in Vanyamar these last few months helping to prepare for your cousin’s wedding and to celebrate the birth of King Ingwë’s first great-great-grandchild.” He paused, glancing hopefully over at the grandson he just met a short time before. “Unless of course, there is something that young Electhel has not told us yet?”

Ecthelion’s son blushed, shaking his head as his grandmother patted him on the shoulder. “No, grandfather, I have not yet wed. I have simply been too busy to consider such things with the constant resettlement of our people since Gondolin fell, and later, helping my parents to get established once they returned from Mandos.”

“Electhel, I am proud of you and your atar both for handling so well all that you have endured, especially considering you each took the lordship of the House of the Fountain at such an early age.” Then Angaheru gestured with his wine glass to Ecthelion as he took a sip. “Cehtelion, ah forgive me for forgetting already, Ecthelion, your atar must be very proud as well.”

Ecthelion choked and for a few uncomfortable moments no one spoke.

Inhaling sharply Inairë observed, “Ahhh, I understand now. You did not come to visit with us first, did you, Child?”

Elárië pressed her trembling lips together as she shook her head.

Sighing heavily, Angaheru put his arm around his daughter and gave her a comforting squeeze. “My children, I wish you had come to me first. I would have accompanied you to see him and I would have warned you...”

Inairë rose from her chair and knelt in front of Ecthelion, gently brushing his face around the bruising and the stitches. “Is that how you received these? Did…did your atar do this to you?” she quietly asked.

Closing his eyes, Ecthelion nodded. “Yes.” He opened his eyes again and met her compassionate gaze. “My atar did this to me.”

“What happened? What provoked this?” Angaheru asked.

“Nothing. I truly do not know…I…I told him about what I had done in Endórë or tried to tell him of my achievements and successes and my death by the balrog I slew – I killed a balrog! – and as far as I know, your son and I are the only elves ever to do such a thing in single combat though it brought our own deaths. But my atar, he…he was so angry when he first saw me and everything I said only seemed to make it worse. I took no part in the kinslaying. My actions only brought honor to the House of the Fountain. I…I thought he would have been proud of me and of my son, and pleased with my marriage and the new child to be added unto us soon.” He paused a moment swallowing hard, then asked in a soft, dejected voice, “Is this the way of it for all exiles who return? Or only for the Reborn exiles? Are we all so despised? Unwanted? Unloved? Do none of us have homes to return to in Aman?”

Inairë grasped her son-in-law’s hands desperately, giving her husband a pleading look, a tear glistening on her cheek and others threatening to fall from her bright blue eyes.

“No, my son,” Angaheru whispered shaking his head sadly. Blinking rapidly a few times, he continued more loudly, “at least not all are treated as you have been. Many of those who returned by boat or by Mandos have been met with open arms and loving hearts while others have been met as you were. I admit that it is difficult healing the Reborn and coping with their moods and behavior as they remember and become themselves again. I endured this with two of my sons -”

“My brothers! Atto,” Elárië interrupted in a rush. “which of my-”

Her atar raised his hand in admonishment, cutting her off midsentence. “Not now, Daughter. Please…please let us try to heal or at least help this first and then this evening at dinner you can speak with your brothers for yourself. Fair enough?”

Elárië nodded, slipping her left arm around her husband’s right though her mother still held Ecthelion’s hands.

“I wonder why Námo did not tell us you had been Reborn?” Inairë asked. “We already had your brothers in our care, with the first returning to us thirty years ago and the other twenty years ago. He had to have known that we understood the healing process and the volatile even juvenile emotions, and that we loved you dearly and wanted you back.”

“My parents were both returned to me twenty-five years ago in Tol Eressëa,” Electhel replied. “I am now very familiar with the healing and acclimation process – including the emotions and the immature behavior. Please do not take offense, but I do not see how you could have dealt with so many Reborn in your home at the same time.”

“Well we…” Inairë instantly shot back, but then she paused and sighed in defeat. “You are correct. It would have been very difficult.” Then she turned to her daughter.

“Elárië, please forgive me for asking, but why are you two having a child so soon after being Reborn? I do not see how either of you could be ready for this emotionally or even physically. Twenty-five years is much too soon! Just from what I have seen of the two of you since you have been here, I can tell that the reunion of your hröa with your fëar is not near fully complete yet.”

“I told them that, too,” Electhel interjected.

Ecthelion and Elárië glared at their son for his treason, but he smirked unrepentant in reply. “We both felt ready for this,” Ecthelion defended, “and we are glad of the choice we have made. Unfortunately, we both believed that we would be welcomed home again in Tirion and have the support of our families, but that did not happen – at least it did not happen for me.”

“Lord Angaheru-” Ecthelion began.

“Please call me Atar or Atar Angaheru.”

Ecthelion smiled briefly in gratitude. “Atar Angaheru, what happened to my atar? Why does he and even my brother’s wife, she – they both hate me? And my amillë, she would not speak to me. Please tell me why.”

The Lord of the Golden Flower rose and poured himself some more wine, staying at the carafe long enough to drink half of his glass and then refilled it again before turning and taking his seat.

“That bad?” Electhel asked raising an eyebrow at his grandfather.

Angaheru laughed grimly.  “I admit I am having difficulty finding the words.”

He took another long pull of his wine. “When the call to arms came to begin training for the War of Wrath, most of the ellyn of the Noldor answered the call. Some of us felt that we had something to prove to ourselves for we had turned back when Námo declared the Doom or we wanted vengeance for our loss or we felt that we were rescuing our loved ones who had gone into exile, like any good ellon comes to the aid of his kin in need. Others of us simply wanted to the see the lands from which our parents or grandparents had sprung. Still others were restless, wanting to see a wide and wild world like those who had left before us. Very few of those who had been born in Endórë went to the war. This was a battle for the young to fight while our elders stayed behind.”

Glancing briefly at Ecthelion and then at Electhel, Angaheru inhaled deeply, visibly steeling himself. “Ecthelion, your atar, brother, and your brother’s eldest son went away to the war with most of the House of the Fountain, just as I went, taking most of my house. Do you remember your brother’s eldest son?”

Ecthelion smiled, “Yes, he and Electhel are very similar in appearance.”

“Yes, they are,” Angaheru smiled sadly, his eyes briefly clouded in memory before continuing. “Your nephew died in the first battle we fought. Your atar and your brother both were badly injured as well. We were overwhelmed and the enemy’s methods of fighting were not what we were expecting. They were so much more vicious and…and evil than we had imagined they would be. We lost many in those first years of the war – too many.”

Ecthelion bowed his head a moment, then looked up again with glistening eyes. “Is atar angry that my son survived?”

“No, I do not believe so. Or, not entirely. Your brother and atar fought viciously after that to avenge their loss and in part to avenge your death as well, for Eärendil had told them how you died. Many years later, at the gates of Angband, we fought the most desperate battle of them all. I took three arrows, broke my shoulder and wrist and barely survived. A balrog killed your brother and would have killed your atar, but Eärendil knocked a dragon from the sky and it crushed the balrog.”

“Your atar believed he was wiser and stronger and righteously fighting with the blessing of the Valar! Yet…yet he could not even protect his own grandson nor his own son. But you, Ecthelion, you who were so young and foolish and wrong and cursed and untrained and inexperienced and mislead…you…you did what he could not. He could not defeat the enemy which you did. He just could not do it.”

Everyone stared silently at Angaheru, unsure of what to say.

“Even after we returned to Aman,” he continued, taking another sip of his wine. “It took your atar years to recover physically -- such was the nature of his grave injuries. For a long time, he also struggled with the guilt of surviving when his sons and grandson had not.”

“At first after you left, he felt the self-righteousness many of us who stayed behind felt, but then when he went to a war for which he had been trained, where none of you exiles had been trained when you left, he was so certain that he would go and vanquish the foe and return triumphant. We all believed that would happen. But...of course that is not what happened. We learned many hard lessons, but one he is not yet willing to learn is respect for our children who departed in exile, made new lives for themselves in such a harsh land and survived or died in defense of those whom they loved and served.”

Ecthelion disentangled himself from his wife and her mother, arose, and paced the room, wrestling with his emotions for a time. When he stopped, he stood facing Angaheru and shakily asked, “Every…everything I said to my atar, all of the things I told him I did, all of the accomplishments for which he should have been proud of me, they…they were all for naught? I failed?!” He paused, shaking his head in disbelief and despair. “I…I failed.”

Angaharu shook his head gravely. “No, my son, that is not the way of it at all.”

He immediately went to Ecthelion and embraced him in consoling paternal arms, drawing him close. “I have heard many songs about you and your deeds in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and in fighting the balrog. I have spoken with Reborn who knew you in Vinyamar and Gondolin and returned exiles who served under your command or in your House. Your people love you and respect and honor your name even now. You not only survived, you thrived! And achieved a greatness for which none here in Aman could have prepared you. You taught your son well and he protected and kept your folk together, inspired them and led them through loss and destruction and chaos all the way back here.”

He patted Ecthelion on the back, then held him at arms’ length and looked into his grieving grey eyes.

“Lord Ecthelion, your atar is the one who has failed – at least that is what he believes. He is still having difficulty accepting all that has happened since you departed in exile. However, there is something else that you should know.” He looked over at Inairë who nodded at her husband.

“Perhaps it would be easier to show you,” she said.  Rising gracefully to her feet, she held out a hand to her daughter. “Would the three of you--“ She paused, laughing softly as Elárië rubbed her belly in obvious attempt at calming the baby within. “The three and half of you--mind a short walk outside to someplace special?”

Confused, her daughter replied, “Amillë, where do you wish to take us?”

“It…it is difficult to explain,” Inairë said. “But, you will see, children. You will see.”

“We may as well go. We have little else to lose,” Electhel shrugged and got up, taking his amillë’s other hand and helping her to stand.

“But you have much to gain,” Inairë said mysteriously as they walked out of the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The group wound their way through the streets of Tirion to the gardens nestled behind the palace. Angaheru held his wife’s hand the whole way while Ecthelion walked with his arm around his wife. Electhel trailed behind them, occasionally asking questions and commenting on architectural similarities to Gondolin, which was based on Tirion, and noting differences. Ecthelion patiently answered his son’s questions and Angaheru answered Ecthelion’s whenever they encountered something “new” which had not been there when Ecthelion had left Tirion many yéni before.

When they finally stopped at a side entrance to the palace gardens, Ecthelion and his family gasped in wonder. Before them, wound a vast trail through lush flowers of every shade and color laden with butterflies, around blossoming trees, and past a variety of statues hidden among the fragrant foliage.

“Amillë, this is so beautiful!” Elárië cried as a red butterfly landed on her sleeve and then flew away again. “What is this place?”

Her atar answered almost reverently. “This is a very special place with a very special purpose. It is a place of remembrance.”

“Remembrance of what?” Electhel asked.

“Remembrance of those we…” Inairë started, but then she stopped and looked away blinking furiously.

Angaheru lovingly wrapped his arms around her and held her close until she regained her composure. Nestling her head against his shoulder, he finished for her.

“It is a place created at the behest of the Noldóran. It is called Tarwa Enyálëo and Wilwarin Tarwa Estelo. After Anar and Iithil arose in the sky, King Arafinwë decreed that this garden should be made as a place of memories dedicated to those lost to exile or who died in Alqualondë. Every House of the Noldor was granted a section of the garden to decorate as we wished with whatever brought the loveliest memories of those parted from us. Night and day, folk come to the garden to sing, pray, weave, weep, or simply to remember.”

Ecthelion’s face lit up with a joy long absent from his countenance as he turned in a circle looking all about him. “I hear a fountain!” He closed his eyes, obviously savoring the melodies of the water. “How I have missed that sound! May we go find it?”

Angaheru smiled indulgently. “Yes, I will take you there. In fact it is our destination in the garden anyway.”

As they made their way to the fountain, many butterflies alighted upon the ellith and on Electhel, much to their continuous delight. Angaheru explained that the trio’s brightly colored clothes attracted the delicate creatures.

As they neared the fountain, Elárië excitedly pointed to a large patch of golden flowers with violet centers – the very flower for which her atar’s house had received its name. She stopped suddenly, then turned and rushed over to sit on an elegant stone bench placed amidst the flowers. Inhaling deeply the heady scent, she sighed in utter contentment.

“This is home to me. Oh, Atar, this brings back so many memories… I remember playing in our garden as a child and weaving crowns of these flowers to wear at festivals. The music and the dancing at festivals were my favorite! Oh, I remember…I remember...”

The expressions flitting across her face brought smiles to all of them. Ecthelion walked over and picked a handful of the blossoms, weaving them into a garland. She giggled as he placed the crown on her head, rewarding him with an enchanting kiss. When they broke apart, he pulled her to her feet and twirled her briefly through the flowers and back to the trail where the others waited, clearly amused.

“We planted those for you and your brothers,” Angaheru explained, his wife still tucked safely under his arm, remaining silent. “Your amillë and I came here many times when the house was too quiet or the table too empty at meals. We would talk about you children and wonder where you were and if you yet lived and if you had wed and had little ones of your own. We shared memories and listened as others of our house told us of those for whom they walked the garden to remember. I know not how many of these plants we watered with our tears of sorrow and regret.”

Elárië shyly looked over at her parents. Bowing her head, she whispered, “I am so very very sorry for what you endured in our absence. I missed you at my wedding and celebrating the birth of my son.  I…I regret leaving, but at the same time, I am glad for many of the experiences I had and the things I saw and learned in Endórë.”

“We are simply grateful to have you home again,” Angaheru replied with a watery smile and gesturing to his daughter’s family before him. “All three of you.”

A small sob escaped Inairë. Her husband fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief and turned her in his arm, gently wiping her face. “Our family still is not complete with a son and daughters-in-law and grandchildren still missing from our house. Until then, this will continue to be a place of sorrows and memories for us.”

“Will you still come here when all of your kin are returned to you?” Electhel ventured to ask.

“Yes, definitely yes,” Angaheru replied. “But then, this will be a place of joy.”

He briefly held his wife at arms’ length and something unspoken passed between them to which she nodded. Gathering her close once again, he rested his cheek on her head for a few moments. When she finally drew back, he tenderly kissed her forehead then led the group further down the trail, keeping her close by his side. 

Traversing two more bends of the trail, they arrived at a tall cascading fountain. The water sang down over many round tiers of ever-widening widths. White water lilies floated in the bottom among tiny blue and red flowers. Fragrant yellow roses attempted to scale the base of the fountain from opposite sides, yet ever shying away from laying full siege to the edges of the fountain. Gems of different colors lay embedded in the pure white stone from which the fountain was wrought, with each tier glistening in jewels of a different color.

Ecthelion stood motionless, bathed in wonder at the sight and sounds before him. A few times he inhaled as if he were about to speak, but no words came forth.

“Valar, this is beautiful,” he finally whispered.

The others sighed with words of agreement as if they feared to speak too loudly and disturb the harmony of the waters and the flowers.

“We hoped you would like it if you ever saw it.”

As one, the startled group turned to see an elegant Noldorin elleth garbed in blue silk sitting on a bench behind them.

“Amillë...,” Ecthelion whispered.

She rose, tucking a handkerchief into a pocket hidden in her skirts.

“Lord Angaheru. Lady Inairë,” she inclined her head in greeting.

“Lady Wilyariel,” they replied in kind.

“I…I always thought your atar and I would be the ones to bring you here, Cehtelion. We built this for you – you and all of those of the House of the Fountain who were lost to us. But, to your atar and I, this fountain was for you and later for your brother and our grandson. We added the flowers in the lowest pool when they... they did not return from the War of Wrath.” She paused a moment wringing her hands in her skirt and avoiding the eyes of those before her.

“I…I am grateful for the blessing of seeing your pleasure the first time you beheld this fountain. We were going to bring you here ourselves – our whole family together and make this a place of joy with picnics and the children playing while we talked and remembered.” She withdrew the handkerchief again and turned away, dabbing at her eyes. 

After a few steadying breaths, she faced them again. “But, ah, given the unfortunate circumstances of your meeting with your atar this morning, I…I am glad that Elárië’s parents brought you here. You needed to know how dearly we loved you –- still love you-- and how desperately we missed you -- even if your atar is incapable of expressing it right now.”

Ecthelion stared at his amillë in emotionless silence, clutching his wife to him with one hand protectively covering the new baby within her.

The awkward lull lengthened until Wilyariel spoke again. “I...I still do not understand why you left Aman, but I...I accept that you had your reasons for going. I forgive you for leaving us.”

Still Ecthelion said nothing, his face expressionless, so she continued on. “I have heard stories and songs about you, Cehtelion. I heard how you lived and led our people – your people for you were Lord of the House of the Fountain. And…and I heard about how you died. Tuor told me that you saved his life and the lives of many others. He said that you were a true and beloved friend to him from the time he came to Gondolin to the moment you gave your life in defense of a people who loved you dearly. I also heard that you were a good husband and atar and that Lady Elárië loved you dearly and looked after you for us. Our people who have returned have said naught but good things about your son for his protection and leadership of the remnants of our House, and his finally returning them home.”

She paused again, smiling weakly. “There is little else we could have wished or hoped for you, Cehtelion, if you had to go away from us as you did. I am so proud of you for what you have done.”

“Will you not say anything to me, my son?” She pleaded.

“Why did you not say anything to me when I was at the house today?” Ecthelion asked bitterly.

“I was so surprised! I did not know what to say when you appeared at the door. I did not know you had been reborn, let alone that you were coming,” she explained.

“I sent letters.”

“When did you send them?” She asked dismayed. “I never saw any letters.”

“We have been sending letters for the last six months,” Electhel said pointedly.

“Electhel,” Elárië admonished in warning. “Remember what your atar said to you earlier today.”

“Amillë, I will not be silent!” Electhel angrily pointed to his atar’s injuries. “How could she have allowed that to happen if she truly loved him as she claims she does?”

Gesturing toward his grandmother accusingly, he demanded, “How could you?!”

“I…there was nothing I could do!” Wilyariel insisted, tears forming in her eyes and trickling down her cheeks. “His atar sent me from the room and closed the door before I had the chance to say anything. I heard him yell at Cehtelion with such anger and pain in his voice. I ran to find a few of the serving ellyn to come help in case there was violence. When…when I returned, I saw blood on my son’s face and then his atar shoved him out the front door and slammed it, barring it to keep him from returning. He gave orders not to allow Cehtelion into the house again. Then he went to his study demanding wine and ordering everyone to leave him alone.”

“Cehtelion, he did not used to be this way,” she begged her stony-faced son to understand. “He loved you so much and was so hurt and devastated when you left us. Look what he did to honor and remember you!” She gestured to the fountain and the others looked, then turned to her again.

“But then he went away, too, proud and strong and self-assured--just like you were when you left--taking your brother and nephew with him. He was so changed when he came back from the war alone. His fëa was damaged just as much as his hröa, I fear. He spent a few years in Lórien, but only his body healed there.”

“I have spoken with many other ellith whose husbands, fathers, brothers, sons returned like he did. Some have healed when their dead kin returned. Some healed at least to an extent, like your atar did for a while, with the return to familiar daily tasks. But Lord Irmo told us that some will just require more time than others. He told me that your atar needs to learn to forgive himself – and as stubborn as he is, that could take many yéni.”

“I understand what you are saying about your husband,” Elárië sympathized, surprising everyone.

“After the Nirnaith Arnoediad, none who ventured forth to that devastating battle returned home unchanged. Laurefindel and Ecthelion,” she patted Ecthelion’s hand resting on her belly in a show of support for his Sindarin name “led King Turucano’s army of ten thousand warriors into a desperate futile battle which raged for days. The collective armies of Endorë were defeated and only a few realms endured to be taken down one by one by Morgoth or by treachery. It took many years for our ellyn to heal after that fight. They all had to remain battle-ready after that and I think that prevented most from slipping too far. I can only imagine what it must have been like for them to come home to the peace of Valinor and be expected to pretend that the war never happened.”

Wilyariel nodded her appreciation, desperately clinging to her handkerchief.

Elárië slipped out of her husband’s arms.

“My love, what are you-“ he asked, confused amidst his concern.

“It is all right, Ecthelion,” she reassured, stepping away from him.

In a few strides, she stood before her mother-in-law and wrapped her in an empathetic embrace. Wilyariel drew back a moment gasping then smiling briefly in surprise when the baby kicked her. Elárië repositioned herself and hugged her mother-in-law again.

“I am so sorry for what you must be going through,” Elárië consoled. “I know it is difficult for you just now – and it has been for a long time or so it seems from what you have said. I do not know when the warriors from Aman returned home after the War of Wrath. But I do admire your strength and courage staying by his side through all of this. You have lost much, but much has been returned to you as well.”

Wilyariel wept in reply, unable to contain her emotion any longer. Elárië patted her back and stroked her hair. Rocking her gently, she softly hummed a soothing lullaby she learned from the Maia who tended her when she was first reborn. The third time through the lullaby, Elárië looked up to find Ecthelion wrapping his arms around the two of them.

Electhel looked over at his amillë’s parents who both raised their eyebrows, giving him an expectant look. Sighing dramatically, he nodded in resignation then walked over to his own parents and put his arms around them as well.

When Wilyariel calmed enough to draw away, Ecthelion took her hands in his. Looking every bit the penitent child, he made his apologies and formally asked for his amillë’s forgiveness even though she had already granted it.

Many tearful embraces later, the newly-introduced and reunited family made plans to meet at the fountain again the next day and each day after.

XXXXXXXXXX

Note: -When I discussed the idea of a Garden of Hope with Fiondil my beta as a place where those left behind in Tirion created a memorial to those they lost, he told me about a real garden like the one in the story. In Syracuse, there is a place called Butterfly Garden of Hope which is a place where those suffering bereavement can come and meditate. It is laid out in the shape of a butterfly and planted with flowers and herbs that naturally attract butterflies. Traditionally, butterflies represent the soul, whether of the living, the dying, or the dead. While the garden in this story isn’t shaped like a butterfly, I liked the idea of butterflies in the garden.

hröa - body

fëa(r) – spirits

yéni – a period of 144 years

Tarwa Enyálëo -- (Quenya) “Garden of Remembrance”

Wilwarin Tarwa Estelo - (Quenya) Butterfly Garden of Hope

Noldóran – the king of the Noldor