No Road Home

Part the Second

Gandalf gave Windwalker a brief tour of the harbor village of Mithbar. "The House of Elrond lies yonder," he pointed to a complex built partly into the rock face of the Calacirya, on a small hillock at the edge of town. "Galadriel and Celeborn live, with many of the people of Lorien, on the other side of the River Mithril, in the Forest that runs along the edge of the cleft." He waved at the trees in the distance, past the House of Elrond. Wind noted that the forest indeed ran along the side of the cleft, appearing to blend into a larger forest at the top, past a truly awe-inspiring mountain ridge. "Up the valley cleft is the main city, Elven Tirion. Most of the members of the Council live there. We must find you a place to stay. There are several good inns in the village." He strode briskly down the street.

"Gandalf."

The wizard felt a light hand on his arm and stopped, turning.

"Gandalf, I...don't have any money."

He brushed the comment aside. "I will --"

"No. I don't want charity. And I have no money."

He looked into the woman's eyes.

"You have no food either, do you?"

"No."

"Your life has been hard, hasn't it, Unole?"

Wind shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Life in the streets is hard and short. I accepted that...some time back." She paused. "How long do you think they'll let me stay, Gandalf?" The wizard did not miss the wistfulness in her tone.

"I do not know, Unole," Gandalf admitted. "Elrond is a determined Eldar."

"I gathered," she said softly. "I would have thought...he would've understood. I wanted...to be friends. I have always admired the stories of him."

"They frighten you, don't they? The Eldar?" Gandalf asked.

"Not...frighten, exactly," Unole mused. "I think 'intimidate' is a better word."

"Why?"

"It's so lovely here. More beautiful than any place I've ever been," Wind sighed. "And the people are...are like this place. Beautiful, and terrible, and noble..." She hesitated. "The Council...I had the feeling any one of the beings in it could have destroyed me with one look."

"That is a reasonable assumption," Gandalf remarked drily. Unole gave him a quick horrified glance, and he chuckled. "But they did not, my dear --"

"I included you in that group."

"As well you should," Gandalf said sagely. "It does not do to underestimate the White Pilgrim. But as I was saying, they did not, because you are a mystery to them. You should not be here, yet you are. And we have existed long enough to know that we do not know everything."

Wind sighed.

"What was that about?" Gandalf asked, turning aside and leading her into the Forest. "You are not over-large, yet that was indeed a mighty sigh, worthy of the warriors of old."

"I was thinking about...what it must be like, to live so long."

"As a human, does this trouble you?"

"Yes...and no," Windwalker mused. "Gandalf...do you know what...cancer...is?"

Gandalf stopped dead, and sat on a nearby stump, studying her. "I do."

"Is there anyone here who...knows how to cure it?"

Gandalf met Wind's eyes, and she thought she saw sadness there. "There is not," he admitted. "It is not something the Eldar fall prey to."

He watched her in understanding as she sighed regretfully. "These trees are pretty," she observed. "Are they mallorns?"

"No, but they are similar."

"I think it would be nice," she mused softly, "to be buried at the foot of one, when I die." She glanced at him meaningfully.

"Mallorns no longer grow in the land of Men."

"No." Her voice was low.

They paused in silence for a long while. "Gandalf?"

"Mm?"

"Do I frighten THEM?"

"Who? The Eldar?"

"Yes."

"Why in heaven's name would you think that?" Gandalf wondered, startled.

Wind waved her hands about vaguely. "They're so beautiful, and I'm...so...so ugly." The last word came out in a whisper. "Is that why they don't want me here? Am I too horrible to look at?"

"No, child," Gandalf soothed, studying her for a long moment before continuing. "As humans go, you are actually above average in beauty, I would say. Your dark hair and pale skin are quite striking." He considered his words. "But only the Elvellon, the Elf-friends, are allowed here. Valinor and Eressea are the eternal sanctuary of the Elves. Eru gave a different fate to Men. That is why."

"Can I become an El-elve-vellon?" she tried, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

"Perhaps," Gandalf grinned. "It takes long, though, child. It is not a title that is bestowed hastily. Now, come. Let us find you a good place for your camp."


"She does NOT belong here, Mithrandir," Elrond exclaimed, giving full rein to his anger at last, as they walked beneath the Forest's edge. "She is human, she was not invited, and Valinor is no place for her."

"How, then, did she come to be here, Elrond?" Gandalf asked. "There is more here than meets the eye, my friend. Did you know, she asked to become an Elf-friend. She has great admiration for the Golodhrim. One in particular." He glanced knowingly at the elf.

"It is offensive," Elrond huffed. "Those who were more worthy, whose presence here was greatly desired, shall walk no more on the soil of Valinor forever. Yet SHE...she walks where she would."

"Elrond," Gandalf queried gently, "why did your wife and sons never arrive?"

Elrond drew himself up, wrapping his robes close about himself, as he scowled at the mage. "That is not the subject under consideration."

"It is, for you just referenced it." Gandalf met and held the elf's harsh gaze. "You will tell me, Elrond. If not because I am a friend, then because I am Maiar. This behavior is unlike you."

Elrond stared deep into the wizard's eyes. Finally he sighed, withdrawing into himself. "You are right, Olorin," he addressed the wizard by his ancient name. "You are Maiar, and you are friend. Forgive me."

"When one lashes out in pain, there is nothing to forgive," Gandalf took a seat on a bench under the nearest tree, and patted the space beside him in invitation. "Come. I take it our historian, the good Professor, erred in his tales?"

"In this one thing," Elrond admitted, seating himself. "He spoke truly of the ambush of my bereth, Celebrian, and of her departure to the Grey Havens. I...did not tell him...she never arrived at the harbor." (spouse)

"She died of grief along the way?" Gandalf queried softly.

"Yes." Elrond's voice was a breath. "After what was done to her in the goblin caves...the horror, the torture, the...violation...she desired to abandon physical life. She will not return. She...released me...long ago. Namo has heard her story from her own lips, and has accepted this. Hard though it be to permit, after Feanor's behavior, the other Valar have agreed with him -- as did Celeborn and Galadriel, after a visit to the Halls of Mandos to speak with their daughter."

Gandalf paused in long silence, heart aching for his friend. At last he spoke again. "And your sons?"

"Chose the path of my daughter."

"So you are well and truly alone."

"Until the circles of the World pass away," Elrond sighed in deep, inexpressible pain, then paused. "So now you have knowledge, Mithrandir. You can see my outrage at this...interloper in our midst."

"Has it occurred to you that, bereft as you are, you are still likely more blessed than she?"

"I did not think it possible for one of the Wise to become so foolish."

"Tread lightly, Master Elrond," Gandalf warned. "It may be you will be forced to eat your words. And such a meal can be bitter indeed." Gandalf stood abruptly, eyebrows drawn together, and Elrond recognized the signs of his wrath.

"You cannot deny she is uninvited," he called after the departing wizard.

"I deny nothing," Gandalf retorted. "I merely recommend that you view all sides of the matter before coming to a conclusion. You yourself are of the Wise. Start acting like it."

As Gandalf disappeared among the trees, Elrond gathered his robes about him, standing and departing the place, in great ire.


"We'll never be friends, Gandalf," Windwalker sighed regretfully before her campfire in the little silver-and-gold glade the wizard had found for her. "He wants nothing to do with me." She put the food that he had graciously brought her into the pot over the fire, to cook.

"Yes, you will, Unole," the wizard encouraged softly. "Do you understand why he is rejecting you?"

"Yes. I'm...nothing. I don't belong here. I don't belong...anywhere." Another sigh came from Unole. "I didn't mean to come here. I was only curious about the ship. It was so beautiful, so unique. I'd never seen anything like it before. But when I got close..."

"You had to come aboard."

"Yes. It was like...like I knew her, had seen her before, but I hadn't. And then...I felt so...so safe...and, and..."

"Comforted."

"Yes. I was so tired, Gandalf. I fell right asleep. Do you know, I've never slept that well before, in my whole life?"

"You felt the protection of the Eldar, Unole."

"Whatever." Wind shrugged. "At any rate, I'm not welcome here. And I know it."

"You're wrong, you know, young one."

"About what?"

"Elrond, among other things. He rejects you BECAUSE he understands. And that loss is fresh in his mind, after his recent journey to Middle-earth. He sought the descendants of Aragorn and Arwen, his own offspring."

"Did he find them?" Wind asked, hopeful.

"No."

"Oh..." Her face fell.

"So you know what he has lost. The pain he feels."

"I know." Windwalker hung her head. "That's why...I thought...he and I could be friends. I've never...had a real friend before. I'm never in one place long enough."

Gandalf shook his head. "Give him time. You are another fresh reminder of his own pain, long ago though it has been. More, though he will not admit it, he feels guilty because he knows he has a place, and you have none. Give him time, Unole."

"Gandalf, I...don't think I have time."

"You may be surprised, Unole. You may be surprised."