Chapter XIX: Midsummer Morning

Midsummer morning dawned with all the glory that the Valley could offer. The Sun shone merrily and the air was fragrant with the scent of dew-studded flowers. The river sparkled, laughing in its bed to greet the day. Though the folk of Rivendell had tarried until dawn, heralding the height of the year with song and dancing, they were clear-eyed and joyous in the morning light.

The green before the Last Homely House was alive with activity as a crowd of ponies were saddled and laden and made ready to depart. One or two of the dwarves, somewhat more drowsy and wine-muddled than their hosts, made a pretext of overseeing the proceedings, but for the most part the travellers deferred to the unclouded judgement of the Elves. Mr. Baggins seemed torn between excitement and regret as he moved through the crowd, thanking anyone and everyone who would pause to listen, and reiterating over and over what a pleasant fortnight he had had.

There was as yet no sign of Gandalf, for he and Elrond had left the revels together two hours after midnight, and no one had seen them since. Elrohir was engaged in an enthusiastic discussion of mountain travel with Oin and Gloin. Nearby, Glorfindel had been caught by Thorin, who was regaling him once again with pledges of his glorious intent.

Satisfied that everything was well in hand, Elladan slipped back into the house and took the stairs three at a time. He rapped lightly at the door, and from within a child’s soft voice invited him to enter. Elladan opened the door and stepped into the little parlour.

Estel was sitting with his head against the casement-mouldings. At the sight of his visitor a cloud of disappointment crossed his thin face, and though he mastered it quickly and forced a peaked smile he made no move to rise. His grey eyes were clouded and his face was strangely wan.

‘Are you ill?’ asked Elladan, frowning in concern and coming forward to place a hand on the child’s forehead. The skin was cool and dry; there was no sign of either fever or chill.

Estel shook his head mutely.

‘Then perhaps you slyly sampled the new wine last night?’ teased the Elda.

‘I did not,’ Estel said indignantly. ‘I behaved very well last night.’

‘So I hear,’ Elladan acceded earnestly. ‘Erestor has said that you made no protest whatsoever about leaving the revels.’

‘I was very grateful to be allowed to go down,’ Estel sighed quietly, staring at his hands where they lay limp in his lap. He did not look so pleased about the matter this morning.

Elladan gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘Perhaps you have overspent your gathering strength?’ he queried.

‘I do not think so.’ A faint flush touched Estel’s cheeks and he looked away.

‘Then tell me what is amiss, child, for yesterday you were as bright-eyed and hale as a young hart, and today I find you grey-hued and despondent.’ Elladan knelt so that he might look up into the boy’s face. ‘If there is aught wrong you must tell me of it, or I cannot help you.’

‘I do not need help,’ Estel said resolutely, still avoiding eye contact. ‘I can endure it.'

‘What are you endeavouring to—’ Elladan began, but at that moment the door opened and the Lady Gilraen entered, bearing a large breakfast tray.

Suddenly Estel was smiling enormously. He got to his feet and hurried to help his mother set down her burden on the table. ‘Fresh cherries!’ he said almost happily, popping two of them into his mouth. His mother laughed softly and took his arm to guide him onto a chair. ‘Sit down, my little fool, or you will choke on the pits,’ she said fondly, tousling his hair. Her gaze turned upon Elladan, and she smiled in welcome. ‘It is a pleasure to see you,’ she said. ‘Will you not join us as we break our fast?’

‘Nay, lady, I cannot,’ the Elven warrior said, watching out of the corner of his eye as Estel’s affected smile wavered, only to reappear again as Gilraen moved into his line of sight again. The child was putting on a show of merriment for the benefit of his mother. ‘I came to ask if Estel wanted to come down to join the household whilst we bid farewell to the guests.’

‘Atarinya has forbidden it,’ Estel said simply, moving his hands as his mother set before him a plate full of fresh fruit and hot buttered bread.

‘Ah, but you are not the only one who on occasion disobeys him,’ said Elladan.

Estel flushed. ‘I did not precisely...’ he hedged. Then, ashamed perhaps of his attempt at equivocation, he sighed. ‘How did you come to hear of that?’

‘Gandalf inquired whether Elrohir and I knew what a rebel our father was harbouring beneath his roof,’ Elladan said, grinning at the child’s discomfiture. ‘It seems the Grey Pilgrim was impressed by your mettle.’

‘What is this?’ asked Gilraen, distress upon her face. ‘Disobey Master Elrond? Estel, what have you done?’

Estel sighed heavily. He closed his eyes. ‘I crept downstairs two nights ago,’ he said doggedly. ‘I wanted to hear the one called Bilbo tell about the hill-trolls.’

Horror welled up in his mother’s eyes, and one hand clawed at her lips, which parted in silent dismay. Watching, Elladan could taste her panic; the mounting terror as she envisioned the carefully spun web of secrecy that had safeguarded her son collapsing before the Shadow.

Estel saw it, too, and cried out, distraught, ‘He did not see me, Mother. I promise he did not see me. Atarinya was not angry, and I shall not do it again. Please, Mother, no harm was done!’ Pained tears rose in his eyes and he scrambled to his feet. ‘Please do not weep,’ he implored, clutching her arm anxiously.

Gilraen looked from her frantic child to Elladan, the question in her eyes as plain as any words could make it.

‘It is true, lady. No harm was done,’ Elladan said. ‘Verily, I think my father was reassured to see the return of the spark of insubordination; it is a sign of a strong will, and that is nothing to be discouraged if it is tempered with good sense. That, it seems, Estel has in abundance.’ He smiled upon the boy.

‘Please, Mother. Please do not weep,’ Estel begged miserably.

Gilraen sighed softly and drew Estel into an almost habitual embrace. ‘You must not do such things,’ she scolded softly. ‘You must obey Master Elrond in all matters. He...’ She paused, as if the words she uttered had to be wrenched free from the talons of some inner demon. ‘He is wise beyond our reckoning, and he is – he is right.’

Again she was consciously striving to give the Lord of the Valley the honour that was his due, but Elladan understood how dearly these words were bought. Gilraen was a great lady, and in another, perhaps less evil, time she would have been a queen in her own right. Her pride was very dear to her, and to thus cast off years of firm conviction was a bitter blow. Yet she had seen her error, and was attempting despite her shame to rectify it, and for that she deserved his humble respect.

‘Heed your mother, Estel, for she too is wise,’ Elladan said. ‘I am abashed to say that she is wiser than I. I should not have come here to stir the fires of rebellion and to tempt you to disobey. Let us sit and eat. When the guests are done you may have the run of the house once more.’

Estel slipped from his mother’s arms, surreptitiously wiping away a stray tear with his sleeve. Gone was the mask of jollity, and he was pale and despondent once more. Gilraen looked at him, and then turned away in grief, for plainly she thought herself to be the cause of his misery. A great lady, perhaps, but with the insight of his kindred Elladan realized abruptly that she was also a wounded mortal girl, her heart bitterly sundered by the evils that had laid waste her life. Clearly a conciliatory breakfast was out of the question. There were matters more urgent to address this morning.

‘Estel,’ Elladan said, taking the chair nearest Gilraen; ‘take your breakfast to your room and eat it there. I must speak with your mother, and then I shall come to discuss this matter with you.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Estel mumbled unhappily. He obeyed at once, closing the door to his little room as quietly as he could.

Elladan turned to the mortal lady, who seemed now nearer to tears than before. ‘Lady, you must unburden your heart,’ he said. ‘You cannot go on as you are, a hair’s breadth from breaking. You have known sorrows too great for your brief years, and in your place mighty queens would weep, but what of Estel? If you are too young to bear such pains, how much more so is he? Surely you can see how it wrings at his gentle heart to see you in such distress.’

‘Do you not think that I know what I do to him?’ Gilraen lamented. ‘I see my pain mirrored in his eyes; I see how he suffers with my unhappiness. I have tried to keep it from him. I have tried to endure it.’

The familiar words wrung at Elladan’s heart. ‘That is your error, dear lady,’ he said softly, taking her hand in his own. ‘You cannot endure it alone: you must ease your burden and allow others to help you bear it. From you Estel is learning to lock away his hurts, to suffer in silence rather than allow others to help him. In your example he sees that pain must be carried alone, and that is a dangerous lesson. In his life he will know pains that few mortal men may ever know, and if he must bear them alone they will break him. We must teach him trust, Gilraen. If he cannot trust he will never survive. Even if you cannot do this for your own sake, you must think of him.’

‘Why?’ Gilraen cried, and hot tears of rage and sorrow spilled suddenly from her eyes. ‘Why must I think always of Estel? I have given all I have for him: my freedom, my home, my family, my dignity. Must I also give up my grief?’

Elladan’s eyes hardened. ‘You are insensate with sorrow, my lady, or you would not say such things,’ he told her, his voice suddenly cold. To utter words of that kind was terrible enough. To speak them where the child might hear was a transgression he could not countenance. ‘I know you speak from pain, and not from any true resentment, but you must not use such words. You have forfeited much for his sake; that is true. But I think that in your heart you know that you did this not only for Estel but for yourself, because the sacrifice you have therefore avoided is the greatest of all.’

Gilraen was stricken dumb at his words, and she stared at him in silence, anguished eyes wide.

‘I think you know, lady, that had you retained your freedom, and your home, your family – had you retained even your beloved husband, but lost your son, you would be little better than a wraith, a shattered shadow of what you once had been. Twice now he has come perilously near to death. Twice now he has almost been taken from you. Can you not see how that loss would break you?’ Elladan slumped back in the chair, breaking the imperious lock of his eyes upon her own and abandoning his stern tone. ‘To we who care deeply for you nothing could be more plain.’

For a moment, Gilraen sat unmoving. Then she crumpled, her body shrinking forward over her lap. ‘Aye...’ she breathed, her face buried in her hands. ‘It would break me...’

Elladan placed a hand upon her bent back. ‘Even the fear of it has come near to sundering your sweet spirit,’ he murmured regretfully. ‘The chance that he might be discovered, the slightest threat to the secrecy upon which we all rely, terrifies you so that you know not what you say.’

‘The Enemy is hunting him,’ Gilraen wept. ‘He searches tirelessly for the Hei...’ She caught herself, and raised horrified eyes to stare at the door behind which her son was doubtlessly listening. ‘I cannot speak of it,’ she whispered frantically. ‘Do you not see why I cannot speak of it?’

‘Not here, maybe,’ said Elladan, his expression gentle once more; ‘but the Valley is wide. A place may be found, and uninvited listeners kept at bay. If you wish I will send for someone to attend to Estel, and we may seek such a place at once. If you will not speak with me, I will send for my brother. If even to him, whom I know you love well, you cannot unburden your heart, then we shall ride forth this very hour, and bring to you whatever confidante you choose: some companion of your girlhood, perhaps, or a trusted matron in whom you confided in the days e’re all your world was torn asunder.’

Gilraen raised her head and stared at him, wonder and anguish warring in her eyes. ‘You would do such a thing for me?’ she croaked in a strangulated voice.

‘Lady, you are my dear friend, and the mother of our hope. There is nothing the Peredhil would not do for you.’

For a long time she sat silent, lost in turmoil. At last, she shook her head. ‘No. The women... they do not know that we yet live. What they do not know cannot be wrung from them in joy or in torment. I cannot imperil my friends.’

‘Then let us bring someone who knows already,’ said Elladan. ‘Someone to whom you might trust the darkest secrets of your heart. There are those among the Dúnedain who know the truth – the men who led the agents of the Enemy astray while we bore you hither, those who have come to visit the Valley in recent years. Is there one of their number to whom you would speak?’

Gilraen shook her head.

‘You must open your heart to someone, lady. If you do not and this darkness continues to consume you, it will drag you down into madness, and it will poison Estel’s soul. That cannot be allowed. With whom will you speak?’ Elladan once more set his gaze upon her, but though it was unyielding it was softened with mercy and empathy.

‘Elrohir,’ she said at last, casting her eyes into her lap in a manner that evoked her son’s. ‘I will speak to Elrohir; I give you my word.’

‘Then I shall fetch him at once.’ Elladan rose and strode towards the door.

‘Wait—’

‘We cannot wait. We have waited too long for you to address these pains that have fed upon your heart since the night your husband perished,’ Elladan told her sternly. ‘You will speak to Elrohir now, while my words and the torment in Estel’s eyes are fresh in your mind.’

‘Then let me fetch him,’ Gilraen interceded, picking herself up off of the chair and gathering her skirts into one hand. ‘You promised...’ She swallowed with a great effort and inhaled through her nose. ‘You promised that you would go to Estel when you were finished with me.’

‘Am I finished?’ asked the warrior.

An imperceptible nod was Gilraen’s answer. ‘If – if he overheard my words...’ she ventured haltingly.

‘I will speak to him,’ vowed Elladan. ‘Go.’

Without further hesitation she hastened from the room, her slippers brushing against the floor with a soft hush-hush of supple leather. Alone, Elladan slumped against the wall beside the door, raising a weary hand to his temple. He was ill-equipped to advise her, though she was his dear friend’s widow and he longed to see her healed. Her hurts were beyond the aid of any power he possessed. If only she could trust his sire, she might find comfort, but that day would be long in coming. Perhaps, he thought despairingly, if Arwen were here she might reach out to Gilraen, but that too was impossible.

He hoped that his twin might accomplish something, at least. And there was another who needed his attentions now.

Elladan raised himself up and moved to rap lightly upon Estel’s door. When no reply came, he called the boy’s name. Still he was met with silence. Afraid that the child had withdrawn upon himself and was unwilling or unable to respond, the Elven soldier turned the handle and entered the room.

The plate of food sat untouched on the chair next to the bed. Atop the coverlet, his thin body curled like that of a newborn child, Estel lay motionless in slumber. Cold tear-tracks marred his pale cheeks, and his brow was drawn as if with pain. Elladan stood for a moment, studying the child but loath to disturb him. At length he picked up the rejected breakfast and withdrew from the room with silence such as only one of the Firstborn could muster.

lar

‘Take good care, and remember your own words of wisdom: where there is health and common sense, there is always hope,’ said Elrond, smiling down at the hobbit.

Bilbo nodded stoutly and reached out a hand, which his host took graciously. ‘Thank you again,’ he said; ‘and I hope you’re right about my coming back to tell you all about how we defeated the dragon and captured the treasure.’

‘Hear, hear!’ cheered Balin, who was mounted on his pony some feet away. Fili and Bifur echoed the cry enthusiastically.

‘Now let us be going, before we have squandered the whole day,’ grumbled Gandalf, who looked a little foolish on his stout borrowed steed. ‘Mount up, Mr Baggins, or I may just leave you behind after all.’

Bilbo looked a little dubiously at his pony. Doubtless he was wondering whether he would be able to reach the saddle with any dignity: Glorfindel had taken some amusement in describing the hobbit’s efforts at doing so.

A good host, of course, was always mindful of his guests’ comfort and their feelings. Swiftly and as smoothly as if it had been his intention all along, Elrond knelt and offered his hands for the hobbit to step upon. With a smile of appreciation, Bilbo planted one furry foot upon Elrond’s palm and accepted the gentle hefting that allowed him to swing his right leg over the saddle. He tucked his feet into the stirrups as the Master of Imladris rose.

‘I really can’t thank you enough,’ the hobbit said. ‘For everything.’

‘You can thank us all by riding to renown and glory – and to a safe return,’ Elrond decreed, smiling warmly. ‘Farewell, Bilbo Baggins. Farewell, good brother dwarves. May your beards grow ever longer. Farewell Thorin Oakenshield. May your efforts all be profitable, and your birthright be returned to you in due time.’

Thorin inclined his head. ‘Thank you, good sir, for your magnanimous hospitality. May you and your folk live ever in peace.’

He dug his heels into the sides of his pony and urged it on to a trot. The others followed suit. As they began to ride away, Elrond became aware of a commotion behind him. He turned, even as Erestor and Lindir began to lead the assembled household in a song of farewell, and saw at once the cause of the disturbance.

Gilraen had come out of the house. Her eyes were red from weeping, and her hands trembled. Those near her drew back, anxious faces betraying their dismay and their helplessness. Few were close to the mortal lady, but many knew of her pain. After a moment’s hesitation two of the maidens started towards her, consoling arms outstretched, but by then Elrohir had caught sight of her, and he reached her first.

‘What is amiss, lady?’ he asked gently, taking her hand in his and turning her so that his shoulders shielded her from most of the eyes that had been drawn by her unexpected appearance. He drew out his handkerchief and offered it to her.

‘I must speak to you,’ Gilraen replied as she wiped her eyes, and though her voice was tremulous she seemed to be in close control of her faculties. ‘I must... there are matters on which I seek your counsel.’

Elrohir nodded wordlessly, looking briefly about him. Elrond caught his son’s eye for a moment and communicated his approval. With no further upheaval of those around them, Elrohir and Gilraen vanished into the house. Gesturing that those who had halted to observe the encounter should follow his example, Elrond joined in the song.

lar

The elves were singing, and the Valley was passing them by as the ponies made their way towards the purple shadows of the Misty Mountains. Bilbo egged his mount forward a little and drew up next to Gandalf.

‘Who was that woman?’ he asked, raising his voice a little to be heard over the clomping of hooves.

‘What woman?’ the wizard asked, not troubling to look down at his travelling companion.

‘Just as we were leaving I turned to look back, and I saw a woman come out of the house. She looked like she had been crying.’ The kind-hearted hobbit was distressed by the sight, and still more so by the notion that all might not be as merry in this beautiful place as he has supposed. ‘I didn’t expect to find anyone in Rivendell who might have a reason for tears.’

‘Come now, Mr Baggins,’ Gandalf scoffed. The hobbit did not see the shadow of knowing grief in the wizard’s keen eyes. ‘Do you really think that in a place where there are so many people that all of them can possibly be happy at any given moment? Perhaps she has lost her cat. Perhaps she was reading one of those sad tales you seem to delight in. Perhaps she was sorry to see us depart.’

Bilbo was mollified. Any one of those explanations might account for it, and the day was bright, and he was on his way into great adventures. Still, he was determined to get the last word, even if he had been rather silly to mention it at all. ‘It can’t be that last one, though, can it?’ he said cheekily. ‘For I haven’t seen her once in the whole time we’ve been here. If she doesn’t know us, she can’t very well miss us.’

Gandalf cast his eyes briefly heavenward, and then clicked his tongue and muttered a command in Elvish to the borrowed pony. Obligingly the beast quickened its pace, and Bilbo was left behind, riding next to Ori.