Elvenhome

by Soledad

Disclaimer: see in the Foreword.

Author’s notes: Yes, I know that the canonical Roheryn was Aragorn’s horse in the War of the Ring. But the name means “horse of the Lady”, and I thought it would have been a fitting name for Celebrían’s steed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

20. Choices and Chances

At first the Elves gathered in the Hall of Tales did not seem much taken with the idea of merrymaking – which, considering that they had just listened to a recount of the first great tragedy in Elven history, was understandable. But then a light wind came up and carried to them the pure, gossamer-fine tones of Elwenil’s wondrous silver flute, wild and sweet and magical; and there was breathless laughter in the trees around the clearing, as the Súruli moved among the branches.

This visibly lifted everyone’s mood, and soon somebody – unsurprisingly, one of the Green-Elves from Legolas’ household – picked up the familiar melody played of the flute, and the singing began. Shakily and a bit uncertainly at first, but more and more voices joined in, washing their troubled hearts with the joy of music, and long before Arien’s golden vessel would sink below the horizon, there was also feasting and dancing and merrymaking indeed.

The Maia led Celebrían to one of the nearby little clearing. There seemed to be many of those, and she appeared to know the surroundings very well. Meril joined them, lifting her skirts a little, to spare her handmaids the pains of cleaning the gown afterwards. The clearing must have been a favourite meeting place, for it had beautifully carved wooden benches standing in an airy U-shape, where they could sit in comfortable distance from each other to talk.

“I assume you have many questions,” the Maia said to Celebrían kindly, “so ask. We have all the time in the world.”

“W-what do you mean that Olórin is your brother?” Celebrían asked the first thing she could think of.

She knew, of course, who the one she had known as Mithrandir truly was. She and Elrond had no secrets between them, and the Istari had been infrequent guests in the Last Homely House… at least Curunír, Mithrandir and Aiwendil had. They might have looked like old Men, but after the first hundred or so years even the dumbest Elf would have spotted their notorious reluctance to die. Not to mention the fact that Glorfindel had known them – well, Mithrandir – from his earlier life in Aman.

Still, the thought of the old wizard with his long grey beard and this beautiful creature so clearly not a simple Incarnate being brother and sister was too weird to accept in stride.

Erunyauvë grinned, obviously knowing what she was thinking.

“Eru did not want us to enter Eä as lonely beings,” she explained. “Which is why He created some of us to be brothers and sisters. I have given my alliance to the Lady Nienna from the beginning. My brother chose to join Lord Manwë’s people, but he spent literally Ages at Lady Nienna’s to learn all about compassion.”

“He has learned his lessons well,” said Celebrían, her heart warming with the memory of the wizard. “Often he is great help, great comfort for all peoples of Middle-earth who still live in Sauron’s shadow. But I doubt that you made the long way from Valinor just to get tidings about him.”

“Nay, I did not,” admitted the Maia. “I came, first and foremost, because I was assigned by my lady to assist your healing.”

That frightened Celebrían a little. Dealing with Mithrandir had been one thing; even though she knew of his true identity, the wizard was, for all means and purposes, an old Man who never revealed the veiled power hidden deep within his being. The thought to have to do something with one of the Powers directly, even with one of the lesser ones, quite frankly, unnerved her.

Meril must have noticed her burgeoning panic because she reached out and patted her hand encouragingly.

“Have no fear, Little One. Erunyauvë is very good at what she does. I should know,” she added with a wry smile. “After all, she spent the whole Second Age in my home to guide and support my own healing. Without her, I might have faded from bitterness and grief.”

The Maia actually snorted at that.

“Not very likely!” she said. “You were always far too stubborn to give up – even if you should have. But you would have turned into a quite unpleasant person, had you not somebody like me to vent your grief and anger at.”

She turned to Celebrían, suddenly becoming very serious again.

“Understand this, child,” she said. “No other Elf has ever survived what was done to you; that you have survived in the first place shows remarkable strength.”

“I do not feel particularly strong right now,” admitted Celebrían ruefully. In truth, she felt a complete failure.

“That is understandable,” replied Erunyauvë gently. “You have been wounded to the very core of your being, and this wound needs special treatment, lest it would fester and poison your fëa beyond help.”

“I doubt that anyone could help me,” admitted Celebrían. “Elrond tried his best…”

“… and if his best was not good enough, that means there was no healing for you in the Outer Lands,” Erunyauvë finished. “Your husband knows more than just what he was taught. He has inherited some of the healing powers of Melian herself, since he has the blood of our kind in his veins… to a certain extent, that is. His gift is the strongest in Ennórë right now – but still not enough to heal your completely. That is our task; that is why we are here.”

“Who are we?” asked Celebrían warily.

“We who abide in Lady Nienna’s mansion,” clarified the Maia. “My lady sends you an invitation to move on into Aman and dwell under her roof with us ‘til your healing is completed.”

Celebrían shook her head, beginning to panic again. “Nay, I cannot. I am not ready… if I ever will be ready!”

Erunyauvë nodded in understanding. She did not seem to take offence at her refusal at all.

“Lady Nienna feared that it would be so,” she said. “’Tis too early for that still; you have barely arrived. In this case,” she gave Meril a sly look, “I shall have to stay on Tol Eressëa until you are ready.”

Meril laughed. “I am sure we can give you back your old chambers, even though we have used them as embroidery rooms in the recent Age. My household will be delighted to have you with us once again. They have missed you.”

“And I have missed them,” grinned the Maia. “I enjoyed living with you and your people very much. Too much, in Lord Irmo’s estimate. He accused me of ‘having gone native’ among you, whatever that means.”

“He is just envious that he cannot veil his powers enough to do the same,” replied Meril, and Erunyauvë laughed.

Celebrían listened to them with slight bewilderment. True, the Maia was one of the Lesser Powers, but Meril was not. How could she dare to talk about one of the Great Valar like that? For one born and lived in the Outer Lands, the Valar were remote, god-like beings; thinking of them as actual persons was almost beyond her comprehension. Not even Glorfindel’s influence could change that.

Meril saw her bewilderment and smiled. “Have no fear, child. The Valar can be surprisingly easy-going; and once you get used to them, you will see that for yourself. Lord Irmo particularly is not one to stand on ceremony… well, usually,” she turned back to Erunyauvë. “Does this mean that you will move in with us again then?”

The Maia nodded. “Yea; and speaking of Lord Irmo: he has a request to you.”

“A request?” echoed Meril in surprise. “What could I possibly do for the Lord of Lórien? I am not a healer; and I still live in exile – sort of.”

“That may be so,” allowed Erunyauvë. “But you are friend and family for two who have been recently re-housed and ready to leave his gardens. And he would like to take them into your house for a while.”

Meril became stark white, hearing that. “Who?” she whispered. “Findecáno? Or one of my sons?”

Erunyauvë shook her head in regret. “I fear they all have a great deal more healing to do before they could be released from Lord Námo’s care. But your friend Elenwë is ready to return to Life; and so is Aracáno.”

For a moment, Meril was stiff with shock. “Why me?” she then asked. “Elenwë has family in Vanyamar. And Aracáno has the Lady Anairë, who, no doubt, would be overjoyed to have at least one of her children back. She has waited long enough.”

“No doubt,” replied the Maia. “But Elenwë’s father, as you know, was slain in the War of Wrath, and her mother faded from grief. With Glorfindel still in Ennórë, all she has are some distant relatives; she would do better with a close friend. As for Aracáno, he seems to have difficulties with adjusting to Life again. His last memory is that of the Grinding Ice – Anairë has never made that experience. He shall need someone who was there with him. Somebody close; and the two of you always got along well. With each other and with Elenwë, actually. She, too, will need help to deal with all the changes that have happened during her… absence.”

“Would my presence not seen as an intrusion, though?” asked Celebrían. “Perhaps I should remain in Tavrobel. Lord Ailios would surely take me in for a while.”

She was saddened by the thought of leaving the peace of Meril’s house, but she did not want to be an additional burden for the Lady of Tol Eressëa. She knew from Glorfindel, reluctant though e had been to speak of such matters, that re-housed Elves were very confused after returning to Life and needed much loving care from their family.

The Maia looked at her in almost shocked surprise.

“Oh, no, child!” she exclaimed. “Your presence will be perhaps even more important!”

“What would they need me for?” asked Celebrían doubtfully. “They know me not; I was not even born yet when they died.”

“Perhaps; but you are Artanis’ daughter,” pointed out Erunyauvë. “You are the living proof that – despite the outcome of the events – not all has happened in vain.”

“And you are kin,” added Meril,” at least for Elenwë. Your husband is her great-grandson; she will be happy to learn that her descendants had done well in Ennórë and performed great deeds.”

“But I know so very little about that!” protested Celebrían. “Elrond was always the scholar and the lore-master. I was just his wife.”

“There is nothing just in your being Elrond’s wife,” said Erunyauvë seriously. “Child, you cannot begin to imagine how lonely and wounded in the fëa he had been before meeting you. His love for you, and your love for him, saved his sanity, and very likely his life, after the Last Alliance. You gave him what he had always yearned for; what he had needed most: a home.”

“And now I have abandoned him,” Celebrían hugged herself in misery.

The Maia reached out across the space between them and touched her hand gently. To her own surprise, she did not flinch away from that touch.

“No, child; it was the right decision,” Erunyauvë said. “Yea, it hurts him to be without you; but watching you fade and die would have broken his heart. And he is not alone. He has your children and his friends to support him – and the hope to meet you again, healed and safe, once he Sails.”

“He will not; not until Sauron is defeated,” replied Celebrían sadly. “He never claimed kingship for himself – his brother had been the one born to rule – but he had accepted responsibility for what is left of the Elven lands west of the Misty Mountains. He is not one to abandon his duties. It will be a long time ere he would Sail.”

“So what?” Meril shrugged. “You are both Elves; you have the time – time you will need to heal anyway,” she turned to Erunyauvë. “So, when can we count on the arrival of our new… charges?”

“Not for a while yet,” answered the Maia. “Currently, they are both residing in Lórien, still getting used to have a hröa again and slowly regaining their memories. They have already realized who they are and recognized each other as kin.”

“That is a beginning,” commented Meril.

Erunyauvë nodded. “It is; but it is still a slow process. Lord Irmo plans to send them to one of the minor havens from where to sail to Tol Eressëa after the end of Samírien. Seeing Alqualondë first thing after their release might trigger memories they are not strong enough to deal with just yet.”

Meril shuddered involuntarily. ”I can imagine that. I still have nightmares, and there have been two Ages in-between. But are there no other ways to get them over the Bay of Eldamar? Your people can get from here to there in no time…”

“True,” the Maia agreed, “but your hröar cannot travel through the same dimensions we do. Elenwë and Aracáno will have to take the more… conservative way, I am afraid,” she rose from the bench briskly. “Enough talk now. Let us re-join the festivities. The people of Tol Eressëa expect their Lady to make an appearance; and I was told that the Súruli were looking forward to dance with Celebrían again.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Feast of Double Mirth officially ended that night, and in the next morning the guests began to disperse, returning to their homes all across the island in small – or not so small – groups. Meril and her household spent the day in the House of the Hundred Chimneys, resting, ere setting off for Kortirion another day later. This time Celebrían went with the others, and she was surprised to learn that it was a fairly long ride between the two towns.

“It did not seem all that long on foot,” she commented.

Meril smiled. “You were travelling with Ilverin. ‘Tis his gift to make any journey appear short and delightful with his chatter and his singing. But he will remain in the Tower of Tavrobel for a while, to consult with Rúmil the Sage; so you will have to travel with us, on the more… conservative route,” she added, wit a wink in Erunyauvë’s direction, and the Maia laughed gaily.

“Btu I have no horse,” said Celebrían. “I could not take mine across the Sea; and it was not my own steed anyway.

Her mood darkened, remembering her beloved horse, slaughtered and eaten by the Orcs.

“Oh, but you do have one,” Erunyauvë smiled and released a long, melodious whistle.

Soft whinnying answered her, and as if they had waited for her sign, two palfreys left he stables and came trotting to her. They were the most beautiful horses Celebrían had ever seen, and considering that Elrond’s horses had descended from the ones taken by the Noldor to Beleriand, that was saying a lot.

Their coat was a light grey, almost white and palely dappled, with silver manes and tails. Huge dark eyes shone in their pale, delicately boned faces, their necks were arched like those of swans, the silky floss of their manes and tails looked as if they had been combed and brushed for hours. One of them trotted directly to Celebrían and poked her shoulder with its velvety nose. Celebrían laugher and stroked the long, elegant face of the noble beast.

“This is Roheryn,” the Maia explained. “She comes from the Noldóran’s own stables and descends from a line founded by one of Lord Oromë’s favourite steeds – a gift for Arafinwë’s coronation. King Arafinwë sent her and her sister to Tol Eressëa a short time ago, prompted by a sudden flash of foresight. He still knows not of your arrival.”

“How so?” asked Meril with a frown. “I sent him an official missive as I always do when somebody’s kin arrives from Ennórë.”

Erunyauvë laughed. “Child, the Feast of Double Mirth is a much bigger affair in Aman than it is here, have you forgotten? Tirion has been all but empty for at least a fortnight, and the court of the Noldóran is still on its way back as we speak. Arafinwë will not read your message any sooner than in two days’ time at best.”

“Whose is the other horse then?” asked Celebrían. “Yours?”

The Maia shook her head. “Nay, though I shall ride her back to Kortirion. But ultimately, she is meant for Elenwë.”

“A steed worthy of a Queen, surely,” agreed Meril, stroking the nose of the other horse. “For even though Elenwë did not live to see the beauty of Vinyamar or Gondolin, she has always been Turucáno’s Queen. So, what is this beauty called?”

Erunyauvë gave her a wicked grin. “I am told that in a fit of weird humour Arafinwë named her Oiomúrë.”

“Weird indeed,” muttered Meril; for Oiomúrë had been the name of a region in Northern Araman near the Helcaraxë, named thusly for the dense mists covering it.

‘Twas said that the mists had been caused by the contact between the Grinding Ice and the warmer sea water. And while Meril had to admit that the coat of the palfrey did have exactly the same hue as the silver mists of Oiomúrë, she still was not sure it would be a good idea to give a horse by that name to someone who had died on the Ice and had recently been re-housed.

She said so, but Erunyauvë patted her shoulder reassuringly.

“You worry too much, Merilindë. All is as it is supposed to be,” she declared.

“You mean the Valar had their hands in this?” asked Meril in suspicion.

Erunyauvë smiled beatifically. “I only mean that they – especially Lords Námo and Irmo – know better what would be beneficial for any reborn Elf than you and me, that is all.”

“Was it also foresight that Arafinwë gave the other horse a Sindarin name?” inquired Meril, still not entirely happy with the turn of things.

The Maia nodded. “Why certainly! She was always meant to be Celebrían’s horse. Come now, my children. Time does not stand still for our sake, and we have a long ride before us.”

“Why does she call us children?” whispered Celebrían to Meril, while the Maia went on to saddle the horses; the Elves of Aman did not ride in Wood-Elf fashion – a fact that had become the topic of endless teasing and debates among the Tol Eressëans, especially the Nandor and the Silvan folk. “I could understand her calling me that – I am still fairly young for an Elf, after all. But you – you have seen the Light of the Two Trees!”

Meril shrugged. “You will get used to it. They call all of us children, even those who opened their eyes to the newborn stars of Lady Varda at the dark waters of Cuiviénen. I assume it comes from not being able to have children of their own,” she added wickedly. “They are simply envious.”

“I heard that!” Erunyauvë called back from the horses, safely out of even a Wood-Elf’s earshot.

Clearly, being one of the Lesser Powers did have its advantages. Advantages they exploited shamelessly, it appeared.

“You were meant to!” called back Meril, without remorse. Then, still grinning, she added for Celebrían’s sake. “Our only advantage on them, you see. Use it when you have to.”

Celebrían found herself too shocked to even attempt to answer. Erunyauvë, however, just laughed and continued saddling the horses and packing the saddlebags.

When everything was in readiness, they took their leave from Legolas and also from Ailios and Vainóni. Then they all mounted, ready to leave. The guards of Meril’s house – a handful of former Exiles who had survived the Wars of Beleriand, as well as their children and grandchildren, quite a few among them ellith – formed the vanguard and the rearguard, taking Meril, whom they still saw as their Queen, her guests and handmaidens in the middle.

As soon as they had reached the main road, the guards began to sing. It was an ancient song, born during the Great Journey and no longer known anywhere else but in the Blessed Realm. The handmaidens picked up the song, and within the shortest time, the entire household was singing as they rode homewards on the old road leading towards the centre of the isle.

Riding between Meril and Erunyauvë, Celebrían felt, for the first time since leaving Middle-earth, anticipation. She knew not what she was expecting from her new life under the Lady of Tol Eressëa’s roof, but she was looking forward to it.

Perhaps choosing to Sail instead of the way that led through Mandos had not been such a bad choice, after all.

~TBC~