Elrond

After staring at the blank page for what feels to be hours, I put away the writing tools and rise from the desk. Words that usually flow freely from my pen, today fail to arrange themselves on the paper. Not merely today, I admit to myself with a sigh. It has been four days like this already. Since Celebrían travelled to Tirion.

I pass from room to room, rearranging the chairs by the fireplace, putting away in the shelf some books I will likely need in the coming days, aligning a picture on the wall, askew for maybe a hair’s breadth. The house feels dismal and empty. The sadness is digging in its claws again.

It happens seldom lately. With Celebrían beside me - never. But sometimes when I am alone, the world loses all colour and joy. Despite my effort to hide this, I think my wife suspects. She is reluctant to leave me alone; ever since I came to Valinor we have never been apart for more than a few days. She was unwilling to travel without me this time, too, but I insisted, on a pretext of setting in order the notes for my book. Celebrían needs time and space for herself. I will not chain her to me.

I step out on the porch. Low clouds move slowly in the sky and veils of fog drift over the hills that are sloping gently towards the Sea. Valinor is fair by any weather, and I usually find beauty also in an overcast day such as this… if there is someone to share the day with. But it will take nearly two more weeks for Celebrían to return from the betrothal celebration of her friend. Until then, I will be alone here.

This is a lovely place. With green hills sweeping down to the Sea and weather that is somewhat wilder and less predictable than further south it reminds me of shore-lands near Lindon. I hesitated but briefly when came a chance to build our country house here. The lodging is spacious enough and refreshingly simple compared to the place in Tirion my loving family bestowed upon us shortly after my arrival. It was so unusual then – to be the one who is being watched over, cared for. At first, it was difficult to admit that I needed their care. Only with the power of the Rings gone, I realized how much I had relied on strength that was not my own.

I turn Vilya on my finger. I still wear it, as Galadriel still wears Nenya and Mithrandir, nay, Olorin, wears Narya – in memory and respect for its maker. Not a sad memory any longer: my cousin is now happily sharing his time between the Mansions of Aulë, his own workshop in Tirion and his city house. Sometimes I wonder when such peace of mind and lightness of heart will come to me. If it will come at all.

Irritated at my own brooding, I cast a light cloak on my shoulders and follow the winding path towards the Sea. Perhaps a walk and some fresh air will dispel the gloomy thoughts.

When I reach the shore, I turn northward and walk slowly along the waterline. The high tide is just receding, leaving shells and clumps of weed scattered on the wet sand. Low grey clouds that show no sign of breaking anytime soon carry rain over the waves. Even the calls of seabirds sound cheerless. What we notice around us is but the reflection of our own state of mind… Have I read these words somewhere? Have I heard them spoken? I cannot recall, but I admit their truthfulness.

Immersed in thought, I have walked for at least an hour and reached the ancient mooring site. It is said that from this very shore Fingolfin’s host saw a red glare over the water and realized Fëanor’s treachery. Could it be true, I wonder? The coastline of Middle-earth has changed, and the roads over the Sea are bent. There is no telling what could and what could not have been seen over the water several thousand years ago. Still, it is strange to stand in such place – a place that has seen the unfolding of history.

One of the rainclouds has finally reached the shore. I take cover under the light shelter and watch the waves washing against the old pier. The pier is built of solid stone and probably has been white once, but years and ruthless sea-winds have roughened the stone to dull grey. Fog obscures its far end now, but in clear weather one can plainly see the outline of the Lonely Isle from there.

Tol Eressëa, the place from where white ships once set out to Númenor, Land of the Star, Land of the Gift, my brother’s dream… I shall be forever grateful that Elros saw only its beauty and majesty, that at the end of his years he went to rest with the hope of bright future for the place that had become his home. That he did not have the foresight of strife, smoke and flames and the terrible downfall ending with the great green wave that would diminish the fair island to little more than a lonely cliff amid a raging Sea. Tears sting my eyes. Brother mine, how I miss you still...

More sorrow. I draw my hand over my face. Why should I think only of those I am missing? Why cannot I rejoice in unexpected meetings with those I thought lost but now have found again? My parents. Celebrimbor, the fire of his spirit glowing even brighter than before. Gil-galad, unfettered by the threat of endless war. Maedhros.

The Elf running over the field with a kite line in his hand and two giggling children in tow trips over an uneven turf and lands in the grass. The spool falls from his fingers, and the line unwinds. The children, squealing, fall on top of him.

“Atto, Atto, you released the line!”

Laughing he rolls on his back and points towards the sky. “I sent the kite to meet Anar! I asked it to pass your greetings to the lady who steers the Sun-vessel.”

That is unmistakeably my uncle’s voice. But I had never heard Maedhros laughing like this.

The memory of that meeting after reaching Valinor is among my fondest, yet today it is clouded by something I cannot at first name. But when I do, smile slips from my lips and the grey landscape around takes on an even darker shade. I am used to look into hearts, including my own, and what I now see there is too close to envy. Am I so narrow-minded that the happiness of those dear to me can bring forth such shameful feelings?

If Celebrían was here with me now… she would know what to say, she would dispel the gloom with but a smile— 

I rise abruptly. So, I would make my ill temper my wife’s responsibility? How pitiful. It is time to return home, to do something meaningful. That book will not write itself. I turn back towards the house.

The rain has stopped. I have walked but a few hundred steps when a sudden breeze clears the fog. Clouds over the Sea break. A patch of blue sky appears, and rays of Sun glitter upon the water… and upon a white sail in the distance. This is strange. Very strange. No ships usually come so far north. There are no good fishing places; the old pier stands abandoned. Ever since we have had a house on this shore, not once have I seen a boat mooring there.

Yet this one, driven by favourable wind, is clearly heading towards the coast. My heart skips a beat as it approaches - not a fishermen’s boat, but one of the graceful grey vessels that sail from the havens of Endor. I turn back, walk to the end of the long pier and strain my vision.

The ship’s course is not particularly smooth; at whiles the sails flap, as the boat steers too close to the wind and catches breeze from the wrong side. It appears to be guided by inexperienced hands of a small crew. I see only two figures on the deck, one of them working the sails, the other steering. They are small and indistinct at first, but the boat is approaching swiftly, and when I catch a sight of dark hair, my heart leaps with a wild, sudden hope. Is it indeed possible, after the long years of waiting?

I stand frozen, heart pounding, eyes locked on the approaching vessel. How many times have I stood like this on the white stairs of Alqualondë? How many times have I retreated in the shadows with a heavy heart after those arriving from Endor have found welcome in the embrace of their loved ones? What if this time also… But no, after a moment there is no more doubt – my sons are aboard. They have come home, both of them. Thank you, Valar! The relief flooding me is so overwhelming that I sway, and the glitter on the water turns to a blur. Hastily I wipe away tears. It seems, if I turned away even for a heartbeat, the ship would disappear in the mist and I would remain alone on the weather- and time-beaten pier.  

“Greetings, friend! Would you give us hand in mooring?” Elladan is at the sails. His voice carries over the sound of the wind and the waves. With the Sun now at my back and my face in the shadow, they do not recognize me yet.

But then the Day-star disappears in the clouds.

“Father! Father!”

Elrohir starts waving so wildly that he releases the tiller. The boat keels for a moment, and only seizing the shrouds at the last moment saves his brother from falling overboard. They regain mastery over the boat and bring it to the pier. Although Elladan lowers the sails a bit too late and the prow of the boat collides with the mooring with greater speed than it should, no harm is done to the boat and the crew. With trembling hands I catch the line and tie it around the bollard. And then my sons leap from the deck and grip me in a crushing embrace, and all is lost in a torrent of laughter, sobs and broken words of greeting.

“Oh father, it has been so long…!”

“Elladan, Elrohir, how we have been waiting...!”

Relief and joy in my heart battle with overwhelming sadness. They are here, and it means that my daughter... and my foster-son...

“We brought you letters from Arwen and Estel,” Elladan whispers, sensing my sorrow. “Paintings of their children and of their home. They were such a happy family. And our sister... she was a great queen. You can be very proud of her, father.”

I pull them both closer. “I am very proud of her. But I am also very happy that you are home.”

In a few moments Elrohir raises an anxious gaze towards me. “Mother… how is she?”

His brother tightens his hold on my arm. With still slightly shaking hand I pull from my pocket a handkerchief and dry the tears that still glisten on their faces.

“Your mother is well. She is fully healed and will be overjoyed to see you. She is in Tirion now, but we can all ride there, to meet her.”

My sons exchange glances, and something passes between them, something I cannot read. A faint shadow of unease enters my heart. I survey them intently. “Is all well with you? You look weary.”

“All is well with us, father,” Elladan replies. “The seas were a bit rough. And considering our skill—”

“…considering our skill, we did brilliantly,” Elrohir interrupts him. “And that is what we shall tell everyone, brother.”

“Brilliantly indeed,” Elladan snorts. “What of our less-than-graceful mooring?”

“None needs to know that insignificant part of the journey. And father will not betray us.”

“I will not.” I laugh at their banter. “Why did you take this course though? This is, no doubt, a most happy meeting, but I am sure it would have been easier to steer for Avallonë on Tol Eressëa.”

Another silent exchange. They shift in their stance; Elrohir casts a glance at the boat. Elladan draws a deep breath.

“I think we were guided here,” he says. “Something happened ere we set out, and… we did not sail alone. You should come aboard, father.”