Apologies for another short chapter -- I promise the next will be longer and more interesting now that everyone is gathered.  Thank you to Nilmandra for the beta, and for asking for more.  Thank you to you, the reader, as well! 

Chapter IV:  Mithlond

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Healers were summoned at all hours of the day, be it dark or light. Both births, and death from age, happened most often in the earliest hours of the morning, and so as Bronwe hurriedly dressed, her sleepy mind fell into the pattern of habit. Swinging a cloak around her shoulders, grabbing a kit near the door for just such emergencies, she stared for a moment at the man who had run to fetch her. "Say again?"

"The quay, where they unload --"

Bronwe was gone without a sound before he could finish his sentence.

A summons to the quay was generally not for a cut hand or minor injury. Fishermen were a hardy folk, fiercely proud and independent by nature. They also knew how to treat anything from a hand sliced open by a gutting knife to a broken bone. Most of the men were proud of how hardy they were, and if they indeed did need a healer, they always, always found a way to make the journey themselves. Only the most serious of injuries ever necessitated a healer coming to the quay for anything other than bartering on some fresh fish or crab.

A crowd was already gathering, word spread quickly in the city, and it was easy to find which quay to go to simply by following the bobbing torches and lanterns. Círdan's voice carried over the sound of the crowd like a clear bell, and he stood on the deck of one of his own ships, addressing the people gathered. "Remain calm. We do not yet know for certainty what has happened, nor if, indeed anything. I urge you all to stay calm."

There was a near compulsion in his words, a force of will that quieted nearly all of the crying women. Bronwe slipped through the crowd to get to one person she could see laid out on the ground, a young woman and several children kneeling at her side.

"We know where they were headed, and that is where we will first look." Círdan's eyes swept the gathering, his silver eyes daring any to dispute, yet his expression was calm. "No more than five ships will join us in the search, and you will follow my lead." There was no disputing that tone of command, and it was a reminder to all that though he seldom acted as such, Círdan was Lord of the Grey Havens. His word was command in times such as these. "Organize yourselves however you determine. We will wait for you at the mouth of the gulf. Go!" Swinging down, he began barking orders to his own crew, readying the great swan ship to weigh anchor.

Bronwe nimbly dodged out of the way as the men were suddenly mobilized into action, yelling to one another as they sorted out which ships to take and who would go. Reaching the woman prostrate on the ground, she knelt. "What is wrong with her, do you know?"

"She collapsed when they said father's ship was lost." Brethil, the oldest daughter, held her mother's hand and gazed at the healer with fearful eyes. "He was due back with the rest of the fleet last night."

Bronwe nodded as she felt under the woman's chin. "When is your mother due to have her baby, child?" She ran gentle hands down the distorted abdomen, pausing to look at the girl and boy crouched there with her. They were young, so young. The boy still had his milk teeth and the round body form of a baby.

"Soon, Mistress Healer. Very soon." Tears filled the blue eyes and she reached to pull her baby brother, sitting silently next to her, closer. "Is she...?"

"I think she only fainted." Letting her senses go outward, Bronwe's eyes unfocused as she shifted her hands lower on the woman's abdomen. After a silent moment she blinked, refocusing on Brethil. "The babe's heartbeat is strong still."

"Thank the stars," breathed the girl. She looked up at several other women standing behind the healer, watching. "She's fainted."

"We need to move her away from here. How far is home?"

"My home is nearer, we can take her there." Walking around to slip a hand under the unconscious woman's shoulders, an older woman, stern of face but gentle of eye, met Bronwe's gaze. "Do ye think the babe will come for this?"

"I don't know yet." Handing her small bag to the girl, Bronwe slipped her hand under the other arm of the fallen woman, and helped lift her slowly from the ground, watching to see if there was any reaction. Only when her head lolled back and to the side did she groan in pain, and Bronwe saw then the blood matting in the dark hair. "Come, let us get her comfortable and get you children out of this cold."

They scampered after her, the small boy clutched in his sister arms. "Glows, sissy!"

Brethil shushed her brother, but didn't miss the kindly smile the healer turned on them. "She's an Elf, Gelmir. You have just never seen them at night."

"Oooh..." Sticking his thumb in his mouth, the boy held on tightly as they hurried on through the early dawn.

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The city was strangely quiet, an eerie place to the golden haired elf riding through the streets. Mithlond was a busy city, full of human men, women and children. On a usual morning the rambling roads would be alive with women hanging washing, children laughing and playing and over there.... Glorfindel frowned at seeing the group of benches beneath the spreading old oak tree empty. There was always a group of old men there, playing chess and arguing.

Seeing a city guard walking towards him, he reined the stallion in and nodded a greeting. "Where is everyone?"

"Ah..." Sighing, the man scratched at the chest of his dark blue uniform. "Down at the docks. We lost three vessels night before last. Nary a soul saved on any of them, and all three ships gone down from the looks of things." He peered up at the elf, noting the travel-stained garb and dust on the white stallion. "On your way to the Havens, are you?"

"Thank you." Glorfindel kneed his horse forward, and soon the clopping of hooves on the cobblestones was the only sound. A dog barked nearby and several gulls flew overhead, crying loudly.

It was a short ride through Mithlond to reach Grey Havens, which truly was set apart from the city. There was a sprawl of thick woods here, and some rolling hills that tumbled down towards the ocean. The Elven haven was nestled amongst the trees, nearly blending in with the scenery, and had an entirely different, older feel to it than Mithlond.

Urging his stallion to a canter as the cobblestones stopped, Glorfindel rode towards Círdan's sprawling home overlooking the ocean. Built on a solid rock bluff jutting out from a hill, the house was built from stone, and had withstood some of the worst storms of many, many sun 'rounds. Indeed it looked as weathered as the rock it crouched on, almost as if it had grown there.

No one was there, which did not surprise him, and he led the horse down a zigzagging, narrow path down to the beach. Círdan's shipyards were near, within sight for anyone with Elven eyes, and he could hear the sounds of a gathering carried in on the wind blowing off the ocean.

The tang of the breeze made his horse snort, nudging him, nearly knocking him from the path. "Calmly, you ridiculous creature. If I fall, I'm hanging on to your reins, and you..." Stopping to turn, Glorfindel gazed into the stallion's deep brown eyes. "...are going to hear about it should I survive."

Snorting again, Nimbrethil pawed a hoof against the sand. Glorfindel tugged gently on the horse's right ear. "Great lout, you can wallow about in the sand soon enough, but for now...mind yourself."

They finally got to the bottom and the blonde elf once again swung up in the saddle, taking the horse down to the wet, packed sand, chiding the impatient stallion who wanted to flat-out run. Settling on a nice canter, they soon reached the shipyards, and Glorfindel again dismounted, leading Nimbrethil towards the crowd gathered on a long, wide pier.

Círdan was at the end of the pier, standing on a tackle box, speaking of those lost.

Three ships. That was indeed a harsh blow to the community, a great loss of life that would impact most everyone. Most of those gathered were human, but Glorfindel saw nearly a dozen elves in the crowd, heads bowed as they listened to the words spoken, honouring those lost. Even the stallion picked up on the mood, quieting and contenting himself with lipping his elf's cloak.

"We consign their souls to Ilúvatar's keeping." Turning to face the ocean, Círdan lifted three evergreen wreaths high and held them there for a moment, before tossing them into the waves.

All around him, people did the same, murmuring quiet words before sending the wreaths out. The water was soon awash with greenery that slowly, seemingly against the pull of the waves, travelled out towards the deep sea.

Glorfindel stayed put, watching as the crowd gradually began to leave, small groups of people, arms around one another, walking slowly back towards their homes.

Safe for another day.

His gaze went to two figures standing at the head of the pier still, one, with silver hair streaming in the wind, the other's hair the shade of chestnuts. She was leaning into his shoulder, and Glorfindel could hear they were speaking, but couldn't make out the words.

Círdan never showed a great deal of emotion. He was ancient, and had seen much sorrow and loss in his time, as well as great joy. Like any who endured so long, and enjoyed life yet, he took the losses as part of the natural rhythm of life. They saddened him, sometimes angered him if they were losses from foolish causes, but Círdan remained stoic most of the time. Calm, unruffled by all but the greatest storms of life.

Bronwe was a healer, and as such, another creature altogether. Glorfindel had come to know their temperaments well, after living with Elrond for so long. Elrond, who even now berated himself for not being able to heal his beloved wife. He grieved her loss, and the pain of separation. Healers felt the joys and pains of life more keenly than most, their senses far more honed. Elrond had trained Bronwe, and she held the same ideals of treating any who came to her, regardless of race.

She was feeling the strain of so much grief, Glorfindel could see it in the way she stood, shoulders curled forward, head down as if to ward off physical blows. He was walking before he consciously realized it, aware of Nimbrethil's hooves making a dull thud against the wood of the pier.

Both elves turned after he taken only several steps, facing him. He smiled wearily, dropping the stallion's reins to step forward, arms slightly open. His invitation was clear, and she did not ignore it. He had been a bulwark of strength in other times, a loyal friend who had been there to dry tears, comfort and encourage. Wrapping his arms around the slender form as Bronwe stepped into his embrace, Glorfindel could feel the tension in her, and rested his cheek against the silk of her hair as she pressed her face into his shoulder. He had been on the road with the Dúnedain for days and smelled of sweat and horse, dust and rain. She didn't seem to care, hugging him tightly as his cloak fell around her.

"Good to see you, lad." Círdan smiled a welcome as he walked slowly up to stand with them.

Nodding, Bronwe pulled back to quirk a smile at him. "Why is it we see you only in the best and worst of times, Glorfindel? Perhaps you did spend too much time in Mithrandir's company...."

Smiling at the teasing, the blonde elf arched an eyebrow. "The road leads both ways, my lady, and there are friends in Imladris who would delight to see you again." Blue eyes went to the shipwright. "You as well, old barnacle, though prying you from your ships is near impossible."

Círdan snorted, shaking his head. "Come along. I've no doubt you're weary from riding so far, and if I know you..." Humour lit the silver eyes. "You're longing for some mead and fresh bread."

Glorfindel nodded, expression one of distaste. "And a bath. Dúnedain truly have no use for such things whilst on the road."

Bronwe had already left them, scratching Nembrethil's head and speaking softly to the stallion who shoved his head against her chest. "You'll spoil him again," Glorfindel groused. "Even now he slobbers all over my best tunics and cloaks if I ignore him too long."

"Don't listen to him," Bronwe told the horse, taking the reins as they walked, the stallion falling amicably in next to her. Leaning in towards the horse, she whispered, "He's part Vanya. What do they know of animals?"

"I heard that!"

A soft laugh was his only answer, leaving Glorfindel shaking his head as they walked back to Círdan's home. It was good to know some remained constant in a world that altered seemingly all things.

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TBC  mille grazie :)