Chapter XX: A Second Departure

Erestor followed his lord as Elrond strode through the corridors of the house. Having lately come from Estel’s room the Peredhil was troubled, and as his counsellor and friend Erestor desired to be on hand when the mood for speech took him. Ordinarily this was a labour that required little effort, for it was an easy thing to linger in some corner of the libraries or to make one’s presence known in the next room or to wander circumspectly beneath the same beech-trees, that he might be sought out when Elrond wished to talk. Ordinarily, of course, the Lord of the Valley was not taken to rambling without purpose.

Through the long years of their friendship, Erestor had come to understand the son of Ëarendil as few now dwelling in Middle-earth could. He remembered even the merry baby, one of the twin blessings of Sirion, who had delighted in song and passed many hours toddling over the sands, gathering brightly coloured shells with his brother. When the sons of Elwing had been lost at the sack of Sirion, Erestor had wept for them with tears more bitter than those he had shed for the dead. When the time had come at last that the sons of Maedhros had set loose their captives, Erestor had been there to help the abandoned child of his erstwhile lord through the pains of this new upheaval. Even then few had understood the workings of Elrond’s mind, for to the folk of Gil-galad it seemed strange that the youth should pine for the company of a rebel and a Kinslayer.

Erestor had beheld Elrond’s partings with his brother: the first when Elros departed with his chosen people to the far isle of Elenna, and that last and most painful farewell that must endure until the world’s end. As peers they had served together in the court of Gil-galad, and Erestor remembered well the first time he had quarrelled with Elrond.

There had come to Lindon a fair visitor; Annatar he called himself, the Lord of Gifts, and he had promised to share wondrous knowledge with the Noldor. Erestor had counselled the High King to welcome this stranger, that his folk might learn from him what they could, but Elrond had spoken vehemently against it though he could give no reasons why. Gil-galad had been swayed by the passion of his younger counsellor, and had rejected the wanderer’s overtures of friendship. At the time Erestor had been angry that his lord preferred the intangible arguments of the Peredhil to his own more reasoned advice. How fortunate, in the end, that Elrond possessed in some measure both the foresight of Melian and the obstinacy of his forefather Beren.

When the treachery of Annatar was revealed and the son of Elwing had departed to offer counsel and aid to Celebrimbor, Erestor had watched him depart in sorrow and fear. In those terrible weeks after the fall of Eregion, when it was feared that all her folk had been lost, Erestor had grieved for his friend, and the joy of learning that he yet lived was a bright memory even after so many centuries. It was Erestor who had come to Imladris with an entourage of soldiers and craftsmen, bringing with them wains laden with provisions and sundry supplies with which to relieve the suffering of that first bitter winter in the Valley. The following year, the forces of Sauron had swarmed over Eriador like a blight, and even after they fell before the bright swords of Númenor Erestor had remained in the hidden haven with his friend.

He had stayed with Elrond through sorrow and despair. He had guarded his realm when he marched to war in Mordor, and he had helped him to shoulder the burdens of leadership after the fall of Gil-galad. He had seen him wedded into bliss, and had watched with joy the years of the children, when Elrond and Celebrían brought into the world three blessings of their own. On that hateful day when the Lord of the Valley had felt his wife’s torment, Elrond had wept upon Erestor’s shoulder; and when Elladan and Elrohir had borne their mother’s broken body back to the Valley, Erestor had been on hand to offer what paltry aid he could. He had ridden to Mithlond with his lord and the haunted Lady of Imladris, and upon Celebrían’s sailing again Erestor was there to help his friend through his time of desolation.

The years since that parting had been a time of slow acceptance but little peace, with ample distraction from Elrond’s pain provided by the increasingly desperate situation in the North and the growing shadow in the Greenwood. Then there had come a snowy night when the sons of Elrond had returned to the Valley bearing an unusual burden, and a measure of healing unlooked-for had come to the heart of Heir of Thingol.

Abruptly Elrond halted, and Erestor, lost in his thoughts, overtook much of the circumspect distance between them. His lord turned his head, and there was a brief flicker of amusement in his eyes before he turned gravely back to the scene that had stayed him in his course. It seemed his wandering had not been purposeless at all.

In one of the alcoves of the gallery Elrohir sat upon a low chaise. Lying curled beside him with her head in his lap was the Lady Gilraen. Her eyes were closed in exhausted slumber, and a rumpled handkerchief was clutched in one white hand. The half-Elf had been studying her sleeping countenance while his fingers gently stroked her disarrayed hair. Noticing the observers, he laid his hand against her skull and looked up with grieving eyes.

‘I have not the heart to wake her,’ he said, his voice low and carefully rhythmic so as not to arouse the sleeper. ‘She is quite overcome.’

‘Elladan tells me that he urged her to unburden her heart to you,’ Elrond murmured. ‘What passed between the lady and your brother he would not say, but it seems that she is troubled in spirit.’

‘She is,’ Elrohir said. ‘We spoke together for nearly an hour before she...’ He gestured with his free hand at the sleeping mortal girl.

‘Of what did you speak?’ asked the Elf-lord.

A wry smile touched his son’s lips. ‘What she said to me was said in confidence. If I am to be her confessor, the tortures of the Necromancer would not wring her secrets from me. Nor will your gentle wiles.’

‘As she will not confide in me, I must trust in your wisdom to guide her,’ Elrond said. ‘It would seem that the ordeal of these past weeks has been more taxing to her spirit than I had feared.’

‘With respect, Father,’ said Elrohir coolly, abandoning his habitual expression of endearment and respect for its colder Sindarin equivalent; ‘it is not the ordeal of these past weeks that weighs upon her, but the tribulations of eight long years of solitary widowhood. Had you taken greater care when most she needed it, we might not have come to this pass.’

‘Your sire’s care was then more sorely needed by the child,’ Erestor interjected softly. He knew his lord would not speak in his own defence, but someone had to advocate for him. ‘Afterwards the lady showed little inclination to trust. Many times he has tried to extend his hand in aid, and many times she has slapped it away. She is proud and she is cold, and all that could be offered to her has been. If she chose time and again not to accept it, that is no fault of—’

‘Peace, my friend.’ Elrond raised his hand in a gesture of gentle deprecation. ‘It is true that I have done less for the lady than I might have done. I confess I have often forgotten her youth, and in my desire to avoid any unpleasantness that Estel might witness I have delayed a confrontation of her grief. It is fortunate that my children have wise and generous hearts.’

‘Yet your children cannot tarry here,’ Elrohir said, piercing eyes upon his sire. ‘My wound has healed, and there is great evil at work in the Wild. Between Estel’s illness and my foolish injury we have already lingered far longer than is our wont. The time is at hand for the sons of Elrond to return to their labours, and then who will offer succour to the Lady Gilraen? Though I know you have tried, and will continue to do so, she has no great love for you. That cannot be helped, but it is a grave misfortune. What is to be done with her if there is no healing in Imladris for the hurts of her heart?’

‘It is true that I cannot mend her wounded spirit,’ said Elrond. ‘But there dwells in this Valley one who has power in this matter that I do not. For him she sacrificed all that she had known, and he alone can heal her.’

‘Hope you have named him, but she has no hope left,’ Elrohir argued. ‘She has despaired. It is as well that she is of the Second-born, for such wounds as these would have driven an Elven spirit from the world.’

His jaw was taut, and his grey eyes grew briefly vacant. Then for a moment they filled with the blazing hatred that so grieved his father’s heart, and Erestor knew that he thought of another lady, her spirit broken so that she could no longer endure these fallen lands. He prayed that Elrond had not seen the signs, but there was little hope of that.

‘She has not despaired.’ The Peredhil took two truncated steps towards his son, stopping short of an arm’s length from him. ‘It is the fear of despair that haunts her. When she has voiced her sorrows and overcome them, then she will master that fear. She will survive: her folk have long lived with little hope.’

‘Poor child,’ murmured Erestor. ‘Is there nothing that can be done?’

Elrond shook his head. ‘She is no child. By our reckoning she has lived for but a brief flicker of time, yet by the measure of her kindred she is a woman grown to full stature in body and mind. She must mend if she will, or fade if she cannot: we can do nothing but offer comfort and counsel along the way. That I have done, but she would not accept it from me. It eases my heart that she can at least find it in you,’ he said to Elrohir. ‘Though you must ride forth I entreat you to return as soon as you may, if only for a brief time. It is plain that the Dúnedain need you here as surely as they need you in the Wild.’

A sad smile touched Elrohir’s lips. ‘Perhaps I understand now how you must feel, Atarinya, needed by all and able to aid only a few.’ There was the forgiveness, and with it the wonted name suffused with love. Looking down at the lady’s pale face the speaker sighed. ‘Yet I cannot sacrifice the safety of Eriador to comfort a grieving widow. We ride tomorrow, as planned. We shall return in time to see you off, if you are still set upon riding for Orthanc.’

‘I am,’ Elrond said. ‘Though I am loath to leave the Valley, I too have other duties. Gandalf has little hope of swaying Saruman without my aid. As for the action we intend to take... even the Enemy will be hard-pressed to withstand us if all are present.’

The oblique reference would have seemed harmless enough to the ears of the mortal lady, has she stirred at that moment from her slumber. Both Elrohir and Erestor understood precisely what the speaker meant, however, and a grim glance passed between them. Only in direst need would that power be unmasked before Sauron, but the fact that the bearer of Vilya was entertaining the even vaguest thoughts of such necessity did not bode well. It was doubtful that things would come to such a pass in Mirkwood, but someday, surely, unless some miracle came unlooked-for out of the depths of the earth, there would come a time when no other option remained.

No army of Valinor would march forth this time, for the Dark Lord now gathering his strength in Greenwood the Great was not of their number. What aid they would offer had already been sent: kindred of the one who was rising again. Already two had vanished into the East, and of the three who remained one seemed paralysed with inaction and another too entranced in his studies of the fauna of the Wilderland to care. Mithrandir alone seemed to possess the strength and will to defy the Shadow, and to rouse to action the last, waning might of the Eldar. Well-placed had been Círdan’s trust, but in the end Erestor feared it would not be enough.

‘Shall we bear the lady to her bed?’ he asked softly. They could not hold this counsel where they might be overheard, even by the widow of one whom had he lived would have been privy to these plans of war.

Elrohir shook his head. ‘I will remain with her until she awakens of her own accord. I would not have her disturbed, nor do I wish her to wake too near her son. Her tears scald his heart, and her pain is trebled when she beholds it mirrored in his eyes. Go to your councils. I will come when I may.’

Erestor thought to protest, but Elrond turned and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Come, old friend,’ he said softly. ‘Leave them be.’

They moved off together, and Erestor’s heart ached as he read the sorrow in his friend’s heart. He was reminded of the gentle youth who had mourned the world’s woes with tears to rival Nienna’s own. Despite his strength and his power, Elrond Half-elven was still helpless to assuage the suffering he beheld, and the pain of that failure shone keenly from behind his serene and sombre mask.

lar

Estel awoke with a start, horrified that he had fallen asleep. His throat was tight and his stomach was empty. Turning his head towards the window, he could see that the sun was past its zenith. He must have been slumbering for hours.

He rolled onto his stomach and slowly pushed himself up onto his knees. He had learned through unpleasant experience that his healing body did not respond well to rising too swiftly. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and ran his fingers through his mussed hair. A large yawn spread his jaws, and he did not resist it. He felt better for his nap, but the salt crusted on his cheeks reminded him of why he had been sent from the breakfast table. His first impulse was to run out to find his mother, so that he might beg her forgiveness for his thoughtlessness, but it would upset her if she saw that he had been weeping.

Carefully he slipped off the bed and went to wash his face in the basin by the window. The tepid water was soothing on his warm skin, and he cupped his hand to bring some of the fluid to his lips. The ache in his throat dispersed almost at once. Remembering Atar’s comments about tidy children, he fetched his comb and struggled to tug the tangles out of his hair. When he was satisfied that he was as presentable as he could contrive to be without assistance or a looking-glass, he smoothed his garments, squared his shoulders, and moved into the anteroom.

Mother was not there, but Elladan was seated by the casement with one of Estel’s books in his lap. He smiled as the child approached, but his eyes were grave. He laid aside the book and motioned that Estel should join him. The child obeyed, casting a glance into his mother’s chamber as he passed it. She did not appear to be present.

‘Did you sleep well?’ asked the warrior. Estel nodded. ‘I am glad. There is some colour in your cheeks again, at least. What was amiss with you this morning?’

‘I was only weary,’ Estel said, offering the small truth to belay revelation of the larger one. ‘I feel quite well again. Where is my mother?’

‘She is occupied elsewhere,’ Elladan said. ‘You and I have much to speak about. Estel, your mother loves you dearly...’

‘And I must not grieve her,’ Estel finished, closing his eyes against his remorse. ‘I am truly sorry for what I’ve done. I did not think how it would upset her when I went downstairs. I thought... that is... Atarinya is a small matter more rational in such situations. I cannot gauge Mother’s reaction by his, and yet I tried. I expected she would scold me a little, though perhaps with less amusement than he did, and then let the matter rest.’

‘Atarinya has had a great deal more practice coping with errant young boys than your mother does,’ Elladan said. ‘He understood you meant no harm, and he was able to see that no ill came of your disobedience. Your mother is, as you say, not quite so objective.’

‘I did not mean to cause her more distress,’ Estel whispered. ‘I have put her through much suffering these last weeks.’ His remorse was burning like a fiery brand in his chest, and he fought the tears that wanted to spring to his eyes. Every action has its consequences, he reminded himself, and it would be craven indeed to hide from them.

‘Estel, that was no fault of your own,’ argued Elladan. There was sadness and pity upon his face now, and he reached out to grip the child’s arm. ‘It was your illness that pained her so; your illness and the memories of others she has loved and lost. At some other time, less overwrought with long sorrow and worry, she would not have been so upset by your revelation of your evening excursion. She is frightened and she is grieving, and fear and grief often bring forth words that do not reflect the true feelings of the heart.’

It seemed that Elladan was trying to draw something out of him, to divine the answer to some question that he was hesitant to ask, but Estel could not imagine what that question might be. ‘I know,’ he said softly. ‘She is afraid because I am in danger.’

The half-Elf seemed dismayed by that statement. ‘Estel, understand,’ he said hastily; ‘we are all of us in danger of one kind or another. Your peril, though real, is not particularly distressing: you are safe here, with the power of Elrond and the might of the Noldor to guard you. It is only that to your mother your safety is so dear that...’ He halted and took a strained breath, striving to collect his thoughts and to reign in his astonishment.

In that pause, Estel curled his fingers over the hand holding his arm. ‘Atarinya told me what befell your mother,’ he said gravely, and he hoped with empathy. ‘How she was put to torment, and how he fears that evil folk still seek to harm those who are dear to him. I understand why I must be kept secret here until I can protect myself. When I am grown, I will ride with you and wreak vengeance upon the orcs and beat back the dark beasts in the Wild.’

A queer smile touched Elladan’s lips. ‘I do not think that our father spoke all those words,’ he said. ‘Vengeance?’

Estel flushed a little. ‘It is what the folk of the Valley say when they do not think I am listening,’ he confessed. ‘That you seek vengeance for your mother’s suffering.’

Elladan sighed softly. ‘That is in part true. The desire for retribution is still strong, and in moments when strength or courage fail it upholds us, but that is not why we ride forth. The wicked creatures that captured our mother were slain so long ago that even their bleached bones have turned to dust. Those we hunt today we hunt because of the threat they pose to all that is good and worthy in Eriador. We are guarding the land, not merely lusting for a reckoning that would neither undo what has been done nor return our mother to us. We ride so that we may spare some other lady from such suffering, so that we may spare some other son the pain we have felt. We ride so that the fair and peaceful places in the world may remain serene and beautiful. By our labours and the labours of the Dúnedain some measure of order is maintained in the North. When you are grown indeed you shall ride with us, but not to vengeance. You shall ride with us for hope and justice.’

‘I am glad,’ Estel said. ‘I fear Atarinya would not approve of vengeance.’

‘His approval means much to you,’ Elladan remarked.

‘I love him,’ Estel whispered, as if this could explain the matter.

The adult nodded: it seemed no further words were needed after all. For a long moment neither spoke. At last, Elladan withdrew his hand and leaned forward so that his forearms rested on his knees. ‘Tell me, Estel. What did you hear of the discussion between your mother and myself after I sent you from the table?’

‘Very little.’

‘Surely you heard some of it: you have keen ears, and plainly eavesdropping is not morally abhorrent to you.’ A small glint of amusement flickered in the stormy grey eyes.

‘You told Mother that she must unburden her heart,’ Estel recited softly. Well-versed in oral tradition, he seldom had to hear anything twice in order to remember at least the essence. ‘She could not go on, you said, a hair’s-breadth from breaking. Then you said...’ His voice broke a little and he strove to keep from weeping. ‘You said she is too young for her sorrows, but that I am younger, and she should not b-burden me.’

Hot tears slid down his cheeks and he cast his eyes away. Suddenly Elladan was no longer in his chair, but on one knee beside Estel’s. A strong arm curled around his back and drew him into a consoling embrace. ‘Aye, that is what I said,’ the Elf-lord murmured. ‘Did you hear her reply?’

Estel shook his head wretchedly. ‘I stopped my ears,’ he breathed. ‘I could not bear to listen longer. S-she does not mean to do it,’ he added, a plaintive plea in his voice. ‘She does not mean to place her griefs on me. They are too much for her to bear alone, that is all. She cannot help it.’

‘That insight shows great wisdom,’ Elladan said, holding Estel closer. ‘It is true that she cannot endure without aid, but it is not meet that such aid should come from you. You may help her best by letting her share in your joys, and by giving her someone on whom to lavish her care and her love. For the other, she dwells in a house filled with patient listeners, who have heard the myriad woes of the weary world. She should turn to one of them, and leave you to your merry childhood. She understands that, and I think from now on she shall endeavour to share her troubles with those better equipped to cope with them.’

‘Verily?’ Estel asked. He could not imagine his proud and valiant mother begging help of the Elves she so disliked.

‘Verily. I believe she is with Elrohir now; at least, that is where I sent her some hours ago,’ Elladan said.

‘Elrohir?’ That was different. His mother loved Elrohir: he was her trusted friend. She might certainly confide in him. ‘I am glad.’

‘So am I,’ Elladan told him. ‘So shall we all be, if he helps her.’ He pressed a fond kiss to the crown of Estel’s head and withdrew gently from the embrace, cocking his head to one side as he studied the child’s face. ‘You are a remarkable boy, Estel. I see why Atarinya loves you so well.’

‘I see why Atarinya loves you so well, also,’ Estel reciprocated, wiping away his tears. ‘Thank you, and thank you for your kindness to my mother.’

‘Come now, let us wash that face and then seek out something to eat. I missed the midday meal while waiting for you to awaken, and as you did not eat your breakfast as I told you to, you must be famished.’

Estel got to his feet with a long-suffering sigh. ‘It seems that all I do these days is wash my face,’ he said ruefully, sniffling a little to clear his sinuses.

Elladan’s laughter followed him into the bedroom.

lar

Very different from the departure of Thorin’s company was the passing of the sons of Elrond in the predawn hours of the day after midsummer. No merry throng gathered to sing blessings upon them, nor were there glad cries to launch them on to victory and success. They rode not to glory in some grand quest, but back into their long daily labours with the remnant of Elendil’s folk.

In the mists that rose off the Bruinen, the two brothers kissed their sire, and exchanged brief words with Glorfindel. Then each turned to the two slender figures standing together on the threshold of the house, nightclothes hidden beneath summer mantles. By wordless consent these two had each arisen early to see the travellers off, though both hoped to be able to return to bed once the farewells had been said. Elladan turned first to Gilraen.

‘Remember, lady, that you must not endure alone,’ he said. ‘Seek comfort where you may, but remember your hope.’

The lady nodded. ‘Thank you for all that you have done,’ she said. ‘I am grateful.’

Beside her Estel was bidding farewell to the other twin. ‘When you return mayhap I may learn how to hold a blade,’ the boy was saying.

Elrohir laughed softly. ‘I fancy that Glorfindel will have more to say on that matter than I,’ he said. ‘I am pleased that you are healed, but have a care not to drive yourself too hard.’

Then the brothers changed places. To Estel Elladan said, in a voice so low that only the boy could hear, ‘Remember how she loves you. Though at times the strain upon her heart may drive her to harsh words or to bitter tears, she loves you more than life itself.’

Estel inclined his head sombrely. ‘I will remember. Be watchful in the Wild: we do not want you to return wounded as Elrohir did.’

‘Ah,’ said Elladan, eyes twinkling in the lantern-light; ‘but I am more skilful than Elrohir.’

Estel raised his brows in a skeptical stare, but politely remained silent.

‘Dear lady, I beg you to take care,’ Elrohir said softly. ‘I will return as soon as I may, that we might speak again. Until then, I pray you may find some happiness in the small blessings of each day.’

‘Ride in safety and return to us again,’ Gilraen whispered. The words caught in her throat, for often had she heard them spoken to men – fathers, husbands, brothers, friends – as they went off into peril and hardship. They had come to seem almost an ill omen, and yet her lips moved in reflex and she could not now withdraw what she had said.

Then the twin brothers slung their bows across their backs and mounted their sturdy northern steeds. With soft commands they urged the horses into motion, and the hoof-beats faded swiftly out of earshot. Elrond turned and shepherded the others into the house as summer rain began to fall on the Valley.