Elvenhome

by Soledad

Disclaimer: see in the Foreword.

Author’s notes: Not how I planned to continue the tale, but what can I do? Meril had her own ideas and was not about to be denied.

Galenbrethil and Findalor – or rather their names – have been borrowed from the “Coronar”-series by The Tired Scribe. They are quite different persons there (not even a married couple), but I liked them a lot and decided to pay them homage.

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

24. A Change of Hearts

“That was not very nice of you, Merilindë,” said the Noldóran, after his Queen had left with Celebrían and Elenwë suddenly burst out in tears, declaring that she was no longer interested in war tales. She ran back into the house, sobbing, with Aracáno hot on her heels, protective instinct written into his face.

Erunyauvë nodded. “You should not have frightened the child like that.”

Meril, however, did not seem to understand their problem.

“Like what?” she asked defensively. “I did not tell her aught but the truth. Turucáno is dead and only Lord Námo could tell when he will be released; not that he would care to tell us. Like it or not, the survivors of Gondolin will look upon Elenwë as their Queen. That is what she is, after all, now that she is back.”

“She cannot take over responsibility for them, not yet,” said Arafinwë. “She has just been re-housed. She is not ready.”

“No-one ever asked if I was ready, when my husband got himself killed in the Nirnaeth, leaving me behind to raise our only surviving son and to care for all the widows and the orphans,” returned Meril, more than a little harshly.

“You had Círdan to support you,” pointed out Erunyauwë, but Meril shook her head.

“No; Ereinion had Círdan to support him; and I shall never deny that the Lord of the Falathrim cared for my son most admirably. He protected us and saw to it that we would not lack the necessities of life, and for that I shall be eternally grateful. But the concern for our people was mine, and mine alone. I might have been just the Dowager Queen, but people still came to me with their fears and needs and worries all the time. I had to organize the lives of the refugees, sit in Judgement where their quarrels were concerned… and comfort them in their grief, without allowing my own losses to overwhelm me.”

“Which is why you were chosen to lead those who came to the West after the Great Battle, broken and bereft and looking for a new life,” said the Maia.

“At least until my husband, or Elenwë’s, or any other King of Beleriand gets released from Mandos to take over for me,” returned Meril dryly.

“That is not what Fionwë told me,” replied the Noldóran. “He said that the people of Tol Eressëa had no need for a warrior-King. They needed a Queen of peace; and you, Merilindë, have been chosen for this difficult task.”

“That is true,” said Erunyauvë. “Lady Nienna told me long ago, ere the War of Wrath would end and the first refugees would arrive, that Merilindë was always meant to become Queen of Tol Eressëa… in all but crown and title. Lord Manwë had been warned by the One that those returning from the Outer Lands would need a different kind of government than either the Amanians or those still dwelling in Endórë had chosen. For they have become a mixed folk that owes no allegiance to this King or that Clan; only to those they would accept to lead them.”

“And just what would pre-destine me to fill that role?” asked Meril doubtfully.

“You are related to the Ingaran by blood and to the Noldóran by marriage,” reminded her the Maia, “and through your Ages-old friendship with Círdan, you are also allied to the Third Clan. But more importantly, you are the only Queen of Beleriand that not only survived the Wars but has lead her people with strength and wisdom ever since. Or is it not what you have done from the day on that you set foot on Tol Eressëa for the first time?”

“That does not make me a Queen,” Meril shrugged.

“Perchance not by rank and title,” admitted Arafinwë, “but is it not what any sovereign is supposed to do?”

“I may have some influence,” Meril allowed, “but no true power; neither do I want it. The various settlements here govern themselves well enough. They do not need me – or anyone else – to tell them what to do. We have grown beyond the need of royalty.”

“Why, then, would you tease poor Elenwë so cruelly?” asked the Noldóran with a disapproving frown.

Meril shrugged again, her beautiful features cold and hard like ice.

“She needs to grow up, too. The survivors of Gondolin will treat her as their Queen, for sure; if for no other reason than out of love and loyalty for Turucáno. But if she believes that she can start lording it over them, she is in for a rough awakening. The people might be nostalgic about Gondolin and its faded glory, but they are no fools. They know what is gone is gone; and they would not return to the old ways.

Erunyauvë gave her a searching look, her concern obvious.

“What is the matter with you, Merilindë? I have not seen you so full of bitterness and resentment since your return from the Outer Lands. What can we do to help?”

“You can stop calling me Merilindë, for starters,” Meril replied sharply. “Merilindë is dead; she has been buried under the ruins of Beleriand, together with her dreams, and will never return. I am Meril-i-Turinqi, the Lady of Tol Eressëa, mistress of nought but my own household, and that is all I want.”

“Yet that is the very thing that is going to change, once Findecáno is released,” said Arafinwë, in a sudden bout of understanding. “That is what you dread most, is it not? That one day he will return and upset your life once again, turning it upside down and inside out, like he did when he dragged you to the Outer Lands with him.”

“He did not drag me anywhere,” corrected Meril coldly. “It was my choice; and I chose to go with him, just as Elenwë chose to go with Turucáno.”

“Not exactly like that, if I remember correctly,” said Arafinwë gently. “You fought his decision, tooth and nail, to the bitter end. And only when you saw that you could not change his mind – that he would go, with or without you, for he would not be parted from Maitimo – only then did you finally decide to go with him.”

“He was my husband; I could not give him up without a fight,” answered Meril.

“Then why do you dread his return so much?” asked the Maia. “Do you not want him back?”

“No,” admitted Meril bluntly. “I have built a life for myself here during these two Ages. It is a life I grew fond of and do not wish to give up. I am needed here; what I do here is important. I do not desire to leave all this behind and become the tame little wife of the great hero; or to take up a small, insignificant office at the Noldóran’s court. No offence intended,” she glanced at Arafinwë, who nodded in understanding.

“None taken. However, Findecáno might choose to live on Tol Eressëa with you. I cannot truly imagine him, once the High King of the Noldor in Beleriand, to become one of my courtiers. Nor would I ever demand it from him.”

“And what would he do here?” asked Meril. “Am I supposed to step down and hand him over all that I have built, all that I have worked for, so that he could play King here, albeit without a title? Nay; this here is my work, my achievement – not something I kept warm for him, so that he could make himself comfortable in a ready-made nest.”

“But he is your husband,” Arafinwë reminded her. “You are oath-bound ‘til the end of Arda… or beyond.”

“Are we?” she asked. “If I have learned one thing from having talked to all the Reborn who came to Tol Eressëa, then it is this: no-one returns from the death unchanged. They have all the old memories, yet ‘tis only their fëar that remember. Their hröar are all new; their flesh remembers nothing, for it was not there before.”

“Since when does flesh have memories?” asked the Maia with a frown.

“Since our ancestors first opened their eyes to the light of the newborn stars at the dark waters of Cuiviénen,” answered Meril simply. “It is as Elenwë said: our hröar – unlike your fana – are not merely raiment for us. They are part of us; they grow with us, change with us and cannot be separated from us. We are our hröar, just as we are our fëar; and those who get re-embodied, become different persons, without the experiences that their old bodies had made.”

“Are you telling us that you no longer consider your bond to Findecáno valid, just because he died?” Arafinwë tried to understand, but he found it hard.

“The Edain have a line in their marriage vows that says: ‘til death do us part,” replied Meril with a mirthless smile. “It has a different meaning for them, of course, but I do find it fitting for us, Firstborn, as well. What I mean is that I no longer wish to renew my bond with a stranger that happens to carry my husband’s memories.”

“I would be careful before making such bold statements,” warned her Arafinwë. “I do not believe that the Valar would allow you to break your marriage vows and take a new husband, even if Findecáno decided to remain in Mandos infinitely, which is rather unlikely to happen.”

“I do not desire a new husband,” answered Meril, “or the old one, for that matter. All I want is to be left alone, to continue my life and my work here, as I have done for the last two Ages,” she rose. “Do forgive me; I need to make preparations for the midday meal to be served.”

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

She left, without waiting for their answer, and Noldóran and Maia exchanged worried looks.

“I thought she was healed,” said Arafinwë after a lengthy silence.

“So did I,” confessed Erunyauvë. “So did Lady Nienna, to be honest. She hid her true feelings well, it seems.”

“Or ‘tis a new development, triggered by the releasing of Elenwë and Aracáno,” assumed the Noldóran. “She was not prepared for the return of close family, it seems. Perhaps she got used not to have anyone around her.”

Erunyauvë shook her head. “No; her bitterness over the close friendship between Findecáno and Maitimo has always been there, festering under the surface. Of course, Findecáno did not help things by choosing his otorno before his family way too frequently. We hoped, though, that after all this time she has come to terms with the past and would be ready for a new beginning.”

“Instead, she seems to have come to a different conclusion; and a fairly radical one,” Arafinwë gave the Maia a shrewd look. “I wonder if this would further delay Findecáno’s re-housing.”

“Should it?” the Maia’s face was unreadable.

Arafinwë shrugged. “You tell me. For my part, I suppose Lord Námo has been waiting for Merilindë to forgive her husband before springing him on her, but after what we have just heard, it seems he will have to wait for several more Ages before that happens.”

Erunyauvë nodded. “Most likely that was the plan, though I cannot know for certain. I assume, the releasing of Elenwë and Aracáno was the first step; that they were meant to prepare the way for Nolofinwë and his other children. With Merilindë unwilling to take her husband back, though… I honestly do not know what will happen.”

“Has anything like this ever happened?” asked the Noldóran. “Have spouses or parents ever refused to take their once loved ones back?”

“Once or twice, when the family did not take someone’s joining the Revolt kindly,” the Maia answered thoughtfully, “but never in a family that was in the public eye like the royal Clan. This could turn out badly. Very badly.”

“Well, let us hope that the Valar have contingency plans in place, then,” Arafinwë tried to speak lightly, but it sounded forced, even in his own ears.

He of all people knew all too well that not even the Valar were prepared for everything. And even if they were, they might not be allowed to intervene. Elves and Men alike had been granted the freedom of choice by Ilúvatar, and should those choices prove disastrously wrong, all the Valar could do was to adapt and deal with the consequences.

Of course, the fact that they had not always understood the motivations that led to such disastrous choices – as it seemed to be the case with Meril’s refusal to take Fingon back – did not help things. Arafinwë suppressed a sigh, coming to a decision of his own… one that he did not make lightly but felt necessary.

“Well,” he said. “I just had a change of heart. I shall not leave for the mainland today. I assume that spending a little more time with our granddaughter may be beneficial, for all parties involved.”

Had the situation not been so serious, the unabashed relief on the Maia’s face would have been almost comical, he found.

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

Arafinwë’s decision to postpone his departure was greeted with barely veiled relief by almost everyone… with the possible exception of Meril, who accepted it with flawless courtesy, though. Probably the happiest of all was Celebrían, as the delay allowed her to spend the greatest part of her days with Eärwen, walking in Meril’s garden or on the streets of Kortirion, talking.

Not that she could tell her much about Círdan and the Havens, of course, as she barely knew the Shipwright. But Eärwen showed great interest for Elmö’s descendants, who, after all, were also kin to her, and that gave Celebrían ample chance to speak about her father and his people; about her childhood in Eregion and Edhellond; about Lothlórien and its majestic mellyrn – and, first and foremost, about her married life and her home.

Eärwen listened to her in amazement. Born in Aman – or rather on Tol Eressëa, ere Olwë would finally move his people over the Bay of Eldamar, to Alqualondë – she had never seen the Outer Lands, and thus was understandably interested in learning as much about the places where her children have lived (and died!) as possible. It made her feel as if she could take part in their lives, and for that, she was grateful.

“I regret that I cannot tell you much about the realms of Beleriand,” said Celebrían apologetically. “I was born in the Second Age myself, when the glory of the great Elven kingdoms had long become history. The only ones in existence were the Woodland Realm of Oropher and Gil-galad’s kingdom in Lindon; and those could not be compared with the greatness of Nargothrond or Gondolin – or even Doriath, to stay closer to my father’s side of the family.”

“It matters not,” Eärwen smiled at her. “Tell me more about Imladris. It must be a most wondrous place if it prevailed over two Ages.”

“Oh, it is, for all that Elrond had originally built it as a fortress, back in the Second Age, after the fall of Eregion,” agreed Celebrían. “Thanks to its natural defences – it lies at the end of the deep gorge of a swift and vigorous river, well-hidden among the moorlands and foothills of the Hithaeglir – while it was besieged twice, its perimeter was never breached. Even those who know the way have a hard time to find the entrance, and its borders are well guarded. Nonetheless, ‘tis more a centre of knowledge and wisdom now than aught else. People call it the Last Homely House, for everyone of good will is welcome there: Sindar and Noldor, the Silvan folk and mortal Men… even the Naugrim.”

“Does such openness not endanger the valley?” asked Eärwen in concern.

“Perhaps,” allowed Celebrían, “but Elrond considers his gifts as a healer and a lore-master to belong to all races of Middle-earth, not just to the Elven folk. After all, he has the blood of three races in his veins himself; and his healing gift is the heritage of Melian the Maia. He feels that he has no right to deny it anyone in need. Besides, we have been fostering the heirs of his brother Elros ever since the fall of the North-kingdom of Men; we have had other people living among us for a very long time.”

“It must be strange… but also most inspiring, to live with such a young race as Men,” said Eärwen thoughtfully. “I fear you may find life in Aman rather… dull in comparison. Do you have any plans for your future?”

They were walking the roofed market of Kortirion; it was Elenya, the day on which farmers, merchants and craftspeople would come from the outlying settlements and from the other towns to offer their wares. Celebrían stopped at the stall of a weaver to admire the displayed cloth. It was similar to the famous grey silk made in Lothlórien, though not quite so fine.

“I am not sure,” she admitted. “I know Daeradar probably expects me to go toTirion and take on some office at court, as I am, technically, a member of the royal Clan, but…”

“But you would be deeply unhappy there,” Eärwen finished for her. “We understand that, child, and we would never force you to do anything that goes against your nature. But you cannot stay in Meril’s house indefinitely. Sooner or later, you must go on with your life.”

“I know,” Celebrían sighed, “and frankly, I would prefer to find a house of my own and live from the work of my hands, like everyone else. I am skilled at weaving silk, and I am a good embroideress…”

“I fear that would not go, though,” said Eärwen gently. “I have no doubt that you could fend for yourself, and the Guilds would accept you, but… the truth is, everyone knows who you are; or they will know, sooner rather than later. You are expected to lead a life according to your birth.”

Celebrían nodded glumly. “I know, Daernana – but I do not have to like it, do I? One of the best things about life in Imladris was that I did not have to be the daughter of the Lady Galadriel all the time. Or the wife of Lord Elrond. I could be simply myself. I could be…”

“Celebrían!” a joyous voice exclaimed from behind them.

They turned around and saw a slender elleth, judging by her thick, auburn hair one of the Silvan folk, leaving the herbalist’s stall a little further down the row and hurrying towards them. She wore the simple garb of the woodland folk: a long gown of fine, earth-brown wool with tight sleeves, and over that a sleeveless linen kirtle of deep forest green. A long apron, also of green linen, was bound before her, and her tightly braided and coiled hair, too, was held together by a piece of linen cloth. Her eyes, pale grey and framed with very long, very dark lashes, sparkled with joy.

“Galenbrethil!” cried out Celebrían gladly, forgetting all about her fear of being touched, and hugged the elleth warmly.

For a few moments, they completely forgot about Eärwen’s presence, laughing and crying and falling in each other’s word while talking excitedly in rapid-fire Sindarin, of which Eärwen only understood every third word or so. Finally, though, Celebrían remembered her manners and turned to her granddam.

“Daernana, this is Galenbrethil, originally from the south of Lothlórien. She used to be one of Elrond’s best healers, but Sailed when her husband was slain in battle against the Witch-king of Angmar. He was the captain of our Household Guard and led our warriors when the enemy besieged Imladris, about ten yéni ago. Tell me,” she turned back to the elleth, “has Findalor been released already?”

“Oh, yes, he went through Mandos in record time,” the healer grinned. “He was out within less than four yéni.”

“’Tis still a long time to wait,” said Celebrían, but Galenbrethil shook her head.

“’Tis nothing, compared with he millennia others had to wait for their loved ones,” and she gave Eärwen a significant look, clearly knowing who the Noldotári was.

“I wonder why he was released so much earlier than most,” Celebrían mused.

Galenbrethil’s grin grew from ear to ear.

“According to the Maiar serving in Lórien, Lord Námo had been happy to have him out of his Halls as soon as possible – he must have been at his most annoying.”

Celebrían laughed. “He could be like that, if memory serves me well. Elrond himself came close to throttling him a few times. Which, considering how patient he usually can be, is to say a lot.”

“I came close to throttling him sometimes, too,” admitted Galenbrethil. “But he has calmed down considerably since his re-housing. He is one of the councillors in Tavrobel now; and I am head of the Herbalists’ Guild. We are well content with our life.”

“I am glad that your new life agrees with you, as you had hesitated quite long before you Sailed,” said Celebrían. “You deserved a second chance; both of you did.”

“You should come and visit us,” suggested the healer. “I have missed talking shop with Elrond, and Findalor would be delighted to see him again, too.”

“I fear that would not be possible,” replied Celebrían slowly. “I Sailed alone. I had no other choice than to come – either by ship or by grave –, but Elrond still has much work to do in Middle-earth; duties that he could not abandon just yet.”

Galenbrethil gave her a long, searching look.

“I see,” she finally said. “If that is so, then perhaps you should visit us sooner or later. I doubt not that Lady Meril takes good care of you, but we are your people. Being with old friends may prove beneficial for you.”

“Perhaps I will,” answered Celebrían noncommittally. “My grandparents wanted me to accompany them on their way home, at least as far as Tavrobel. I was about to refuse, but… yes, perhaps I should accept their offer, after all.”

“You should,” said Galenbrethil empathically. “We have place enough and would take you in gladly during your visit; and we would love to hear about our home of old again. It has been a long time since anyone from your household came.”

Celebrían promised to consider it, and Galenbrethil quickly explained her how to find their home in Tavrobel. Then the Noldotári and the Lady of Imladris took their leave from the healer and headed back to Meril’s house.

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

“Is the ellon she is married to truly so irritating?” asked Eärwen when they were safely out of Galenbrethil’s earshot.

Celebrían smiled fondly.

“He did have his moments,” she admitted. “But again, he was a warrior and a fairly young one: about my age, or not much older; the son of Noldorin Exiles, but of common stock. He followed Elrond to Imladris from Gil-galad’s court and saved his life in the Battle of Dagorlad; since then, however, he became somewhat obsessed with concern about my husband’s safety. To a certain extent, it was even justified; he was the Captain of the Household Guard, after all, and it was his duty to keep the Master of the House safe.”

“But…?” asked Eärwen, for there definitely was a but coming.

“But Elrond never suffered it kindly if anyone tried to cage him,” continued Celebrían, smiling. “Not even for his own safety. He had once been a warrior, too, after all, and an able one at that.”

“I am surprised that Glorfindel did not tell this… what was his name again?” Eärwen trailed off, not quite remembering the foreign-sounding name.

“Findalor,” supplied Celebrían.

“That he did not tell this Findalor to back off a little,” said Eärwen. “He was well-known for stomping down over-enthusiastic youths in his days of old.”

Celebrían shook her head. “It was not his place to tell Findalor what to do or what to leave alone.”

“How that?” Eärwen frowned. “Is he not Elrond’s chief captain now?”

“He is,” nodded Celebrían, “but his responsibility is Imladris as a whole, and the safety of all those who dwell in our valley. Elrond’s safety has always been the concern of the Household Guard; ever since he laid down his sword to dedicate his life fully to the healing arts. Findalor took his responsibilities seriously. One cannot find fault in that; even if the way how he went after his duties could be irritating to the extreme at times. I wonder what he is like now, that he has supposedly calmed down.”

Eärwen smiled at her granddaughter knowingly. “I have the feeling that you already decided to come with us – or rather to Tavrobel.”

“I believe I will,” confessed Celebrían. “Lady Meril has been very kind to me, and Erunyauvë is a great deal of comfort, by her very presence alone, but… it would be good to meet old friends again. I never hoped to find someone I knew from before; not so early on, and was all but resigned to live among strangers for quite some time. And even though they showed me naught by kindness since my arrival…” she trailed off, suddenly uncertain, for she did not want to appear ungrateful.

“It must be very strange for you, I deem,” said Eärwen gently. “You left behind everything you knew and now that the first shock is over, you are beginning to feel the differences. Perhaps your friend, the lady herbalist, is right. Perhaps spending time with old friends would help you to build a bridge between past and future.”

“To tell the truth, I do not find life here so different from the one I was used to,” replied Celebrían thoughtfully. “Save for meeting people from ancient legends at every corner, that is. Other than that, though, I find nothing odd about the customs here – and now that I have re-found some old friends, I am beginning to feel at home.”

“And I am glad to hear that,” said Eärwen. “As much as we would love to have you living with us, we understand that you are a person of your own right, not a piece of our lost daughter that we have found again. We learned that lesson with Ingalaurë on the hard way,” she added dryly, making Celebrían wonder what might have happened between the royal couple and their only grandson. Whether Inglor’s decision to spend an extended time in Middle-earth, living in Gil-galad’s court had anything to do with that.

She found it better not to ask, though, at least not yet. Instead, she simply thanked her granddam for her understanding. Eärwen smiled wistfully, her eyes bright with suppressed tears.

“There is nothing to thank for, child,” she said. “We are happy to have you for yourself; and we hope that one day you will find it in your heart to come and visit us in Tirion.”

“One day, I will,” promised Celebrían, “but not just yet. I have barely begun to find my peace here, and healing is still a long way to go. I need more time. A lot more, I fear.”

Eärwen smiled through her tears. “Time matters very little to us, dear. We are Elves – we have the time. And waiting is something your anatar and I have become quite good at in the last two Ages.”

~TBC~