In the Garden

Title: In the Garden, Chapter 28
Author: Sorsha
Fandom/Pairing: Elrond/OFC, others implied
Rating: R
Warning: AU (Story set several hundred years after ROTK in Aman); Het.
Feedback: Constructive feedback appreciated.
Archive: AFF; FF
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Lady Victoria for betaing this fic.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Prof. Tolkien. A quick check of my bank account should prove I’m not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh!
Summary: Life in the Blessed Land has not been so blessed for Elrond. Can the happiness that has long eluded him be found in the words of a red-bound journal, the help of his scheming friends, and the granting of a wish that none thought possible?

Chapter 28 --- Tis the Season

Glorfindel sat back and surveyed his work with satisfaction. The hanging partitions he and Elrond had devised to divide the upper floor of their new school had come together just as they had hoped. With most of the panels in place, the large center space was now neatly subdivided so that the art and music classes could share the space without getting in each others way. The partitions were designed to slide to the side, out of the way when large events required the entire area.

Looking around, he noted that his wife had begun to hang some of the artwork they had selected to decorate the walls of the gallery until student work could take their place. Gwing had been insistent that they include works from all the art instructors, as well as, work from noted artists from among their Middle-earth kindred. It had become a point of honor for her to illustrate the wealth of talent and accomplishment that flourished in the ancient realms of the elder in the land of her birth. Paintings, pottery, sculpture, carvings, textiles, metal and glass work… the range of items showcased the artistry of their people.

Elrond had been inspired by her enthusiasm and had found examples of rare musical instruments not found in Aman to add to the collection. He, Erestor, and Melpomaen had begun to sort through the massive archives they had brought with them from Imladris with plans to open a library dedicated to the lore and legacy of Middle-earth. Lord Irmo had been the one to suggest this endeavor and the idea had come to life in Mel’s capable hands. It had been much needed reassurance that the Valar was aware of the difficulties the new arrivals were having in being accepted in Aman and that they supported these efforts to improve this situation.

Smiling, he let his gaze turn toward those working in the sunlit room that would become the main music classroom. Meril and Glaurlas were busy completing the roster of students for each class in final preparation for opening the school the week following Midwinter. Taerad, Lindir, and Indril were composing letters to the families of their students to inform them of class schedules, materials, and other administrative information. The response they had received to the announcement of the school’s creation had been overwhelming, even with the gossip that had followed their return from Lorien.

With this thought, the Balrog Slayer focused on Meril’s bent head. Speculation over her move to her aunt and uncle’s home had been particularly brutal. Her mother’s caustic words in response to inquiries into the matter had not helped defuse the situation. Finarfin had personally stepped into the fray to correct the rumours that Meril had been turned out of her home by her parents for personal misconduct, a possibility Elulos had done nothing to squelch. The furious Noldorian King had made it very clear his great-granddaughter’s honour was above reproach and that her move was a family matter not open for public debate.

Her father’s subsequent move to the cottage in Alqualondë had fuelled new speculation, much of it pointed toward her mother. The reclusive, yet domineering elleth had all but disappeared from view. Elulos had turned away visits from her twin and their father, only accepting visits from her naneth. The riffs in the family had grown deeper when the other two children had returned to their homes with their problems unresolved. The comings and goings of the small family had been avidly watched and discussed.

In the months that had followed, the gossip had slowly died away… or, at the very least, become more subtle. Through it all, Meril had refused to hide or avoid being seen in public. She had held her head high and moved through her day with grace and dignity. But, those of their family close to her had noted the steady loss of weight from her already too thin frame and the pallor clinging to her features. That she was not sleeping well was clear from the dark circles ringing her eyes, making their redness all the more noticeable. She talked about little beyond discussion of issues related to the school or of her music, so none knew the true state of her spirit.

Elrond had tired not to hover, but he was clearly worried. As never before, Glorfindel wished his friend was free of the yoke of his failed marriage so that he was free to express the love he felt for her. /Sometimes there is no substitute for the embrace of the one you love most dear. It would help them both if he could simple pull her into his arms and remind her she is not alone… is loved by us all. I know the support of the Valar is critical to his petition, but I can well understand Elrond’s frustration with the delay./

Feeling a gentle hand come to rest on his shoulder, he looked up into the deep blue eyes of his wife. “I am worried about her too. She looks as though a modest wind could blow her away.”

Rising to stand at Gwing’s side, he nodded, “Aye, she does. I wish there was something we could do to help her… and Elrond.”

“Have you heard whether or not she plans to attend the Midwinter celebration at Elrond’s house? She would benefit from a day of pleasant diversions. I doubt she has experienced the traditions of some of the other peoples as was the practice of Imladris,” she mused. “Her naneth allows only the traditions of the Eldar in their home, for she feels the Secondborn are less cultured. In any case, she would enjoy a day of revelry and relaxation, safely in the company of our family and friends.”

“That is a good idea, melme. We must make sure she is there. We always included Yule traditions from the Dwarves, the Edain, and the Hobbits… Bilbo’s influence, in our Midwinter celebrations. She would enjoy seeing all of that. And the food… Taerad will have the cooks making such a feast.” Bending to press a kiss to her lips, he added, “This will be the first year Elrond has celebrated the Midwinter as we did in the valley since Samwise passed away. As you know, most of the elves of Imladris plan to attend, along with many of our extended family. I will talk with Gildor. He is downstairs helping Rúmil and the twins finish some of the furniture for the classrooms.” (love)

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Meril paused just inside the doorway leading into the main public room of Elrond’s house. A small smile began to grow as she let her eyes take in the sight before her. Thick, fragrant swags and wreaths of evergreen and holly hung from the rafters and doors. The mantle of the massive fireplace was decorated with garlands of its own, the greenery interspersed with glossy apples, pears, oranges, and pomegranates. A roaring fire in the hearth cast a warm glow, a glow that danced off crystal and silver balls that completed the decorations.

A fir tree that reminded her of the forests high in the mountains of Middle-earth grew in a large decorative pot that held pride of place next to the main window overlooking the gardens. Tiny candles and small cookies… strings of sugared fruit, nuts, and berries had been lovingly arranged along its branches. Shimmering balls of multi-coloured glass and filigreed silver ornaments added a rich opulence to the decorations. A shining star of crystal… one that reminded Meril of the glow of the star of Eärendil, had been placed at the top of the tree. Small wrapped presents nestled amongst the branches.

Bowls of clove-studded fruit had been scattered around the room, their spicy scent teasing her nose and making her hungry. Lovely red-leaved plants and pots of fragrant rosemary adorned the tables or were massed in the corners of the vast room, adding a festive cheer. A large mithril bowl dominated a table laden with cakes, cookies, and candies. A rich red beverage shimmered amid the slices of spice-studded oranges and lemons floating on the top. Trays of rich, savoury pastries and meat-stuffed rolls made an enticing display, reminding her of how little she had eaten of late.

Family and friends… the whole of Imladris filled the room to overflowing, many others crowding into the adjacent hallway and rooms. Laughter, the smells of roasting meat and baking bread, and the gentle caress of music filled the house. The rich heritages of Middle-earth, its varied peoples, were all there in a pleasing mix that captured the spirit of their former home. Aman, for all its splendour and perfection, lacked the passion and joy of the Midwinter celebration Elrond’s people had known in Imladris. Feeling the small smile grow into a happy grin, Meril let her uncle led her into its midst.

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“So… what do you think of our celebration?”

Turning from her study of the tree, Meril found she had been joined by Elrond. “It is magnificent! I have never seen anything like it… and yet, it all feels familiar.”

Tucking her hand into the curve of his arm, he began to lead her in a circle around the tree, pointing out special decorations. “It is Middle-earth… all of Middle-earth. Every realm and people contributed to our traditions in Imladris. Lindir and Taerad helped me start it based on the Midwinter celebrations I remembered from when I was a tiny elfling in my parent’s home. We added other parts from our years in Lindon and hers in Eregion. Over the centuries, elves and men from other realms … the dwarves and hobbits, made contributions. Glorfindel, Galadriel, and Celeborn offered traditions from Aman… Doriath and Gondolin.”

“Where did the idea of the tree begin? I have never seen a tree brought inside and decorated in this manner,” she asked, her pleasure magnified by his company.

A fond smile lit his face as he answered. “That came to us from my dear friend, Bilbo Baggins. Arwen discovered during his first Midwinter visit to Imladris that he had found a small tree in the woods to decorate his room. The next time he spent the winter with us, she had a tree placed in the Hall of Fire and invited him to show us how to decorate it. We were so enchanted by the beauty of this piece of the natural world, we made it part of our annual celebrations… though we prefer to use a live tree rather than one that has been cut.”

Pausing, he let his mind cast back over the years. “I brought several seedlings with me when I sailed to be sure we had trees for all the years our Hobbit friends were with us. I wanted them to have that tangible link to home. Erestor has continued to cultivate them for our people. He is quite sentimental, though he tries to hide that fact.”

“I am no more or less sentimental than the average elf, meldir. It is the peredhil that are the ones given to excessive sentiment.” (friend)

Turning, the couple found they had been joined by the elf in question. Grinning, Elrond countered, “Would you care to explain why I found you in the middle of this room two days ago giving orders and making changes so that everything was ‘exactly as we did it at home’?”

Adopting a serious expression, one at odds with the twinkle in his eyes, he replied, “I was but doing my duty, my lord. I did not wish to hear complaints from you or your sons if any detail was amiss. We all tremble at the thought.”

Snorting in amusement, Elrond teased, “So I have noticed. Your meek and subservient nature has long been known to us all, my brother.”

Smiling down at the giggling elleth, the Chief Counsellor noted, “You see the abuse I must accept, my lady? I must confess… it is a painful thing to be mocked for my dedication and loyalty.”

“You are an inspiration to us all, my lord counsellor. I know his lordship would be lost without you,” she responded in kind, warmed by the playful banter.

“While I cannot disagree, I refuse to comment further for fear he will become even more insufferable.” Sighing dramatically, Elrond offered, “And, I must confess… he takes great pleasure in ordering me around. It is a trial, my dear Meril… a great trial.”

Patting his arm, she played along. “Your patience is legend, my lord. I am in awe.”

“How much of the mulled wine have you been feeding her, ion for her to be so deluded?” (son)

Smiling at his foster father, Elrond mock whispered, “Shush… do not alert her to the truth! I have been working for some time to create this image without the need to ply her with spirits.”

Looking over at the buffet, Meril asked, “There is mulled wine? I have not had that since we left Lothlorien.”

“The three of you take seats by the fire and I will bring us each a cup. Perhaps some of those pastries as well, for it will be many hours before the evening meal is served,” Erestor instructed. Spotting his parents entering the room, he added, “I will enlist Ada in helping me make selections for us all if you will save us seats.”

“A sound plan, my dear friend. Let us move quickly before the best seats are taken,” Elrond declared, leading Meril to a seat next to one he claimed for himself.

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Over the next hour, their small group had grown to include most of those in attendance. Additional chairs and numerous pillows had been pulled into the great room and the revelers happily consumed most of the food prepared for the mid-day meal. A chair was quickly found to place next to the fire on Elrond’s other side when Ewing unexpectedly joined them. The smile on the peredhel’s face lit the room at having both his mother and the elleth he loved so near.

“Is that star modeled after your father, ion?” (son)

Smiling at his foster father, Elrond reached over to take Elwing’s hand. “Aye, it is. Naneth. It is a copy of one Ereinion gave Elros and me when we were still elflings. We had learned of your fates from the forces of the Host and he knew we were deeply grieved by our separation from you. He wanted us to have a reminder that Ada watched over us even when we could not see his star. We hung it in the window of our room and woke each day to the sparkle of Anor’s light shifting through the crystal.”

“It eventually found its way to me when I founded Imladris,” he added, casting a sidelong look at his adopted family. “… though Taerad refused to let me display it for fear it would be damaged. She and Lindir have had several copies made as gifts over the years. The original is safely sealed in a glass-front chest on a bookcase in my sitting room. It was Arwen’s idea to have one made to use as a crown for our tree.”

“Dear Bilbo. I still remember his excitement at decorating the tree that first time at Arwen’s prodding. He could rival Erestor for organizing an event when it came to a party or some merriment. He had all of us enlisted in making the decorations and helping him hang them on the higher branches. I think we were all as entranced with his joy at sharing this tradition with us as we were the tree. Hobbits have the most amazing capacity for enjoying life of any of Eru’s creations,” Olórin observed. “May I ask… why is there no popcorn on the tree? That was one of Bilbo’s favorite decorations.”

“We have not been able to find a corn to use. Had I known corn suitable for popping was not to be found in Aman, I would have brought some seeds with me to plant in our garden,” Lindir lamented. “As lovely as the tree looks, I agree it still seems to be missing something without the garlands of popcorn.”

“Popcorn? What does this mean?” Lissë asked, her eyes alight with pleasure. She had arrived that day for the celebration in the company of those traveling from Lorien much to Ereinion’s joy. “How does one do such a thing… and why?”

“The kernels are dried, then placed in a covered pan with a little butter or oil. The pan is then held over the fire and swirled. After a few minutes, the kernels explode and puff up into a quite tasty treat,” Melpomaen answered. “With a little salt, it is a quite pleasant snack favored across Middle-earth. Bilbo liked to string together popped kernels to form garlands to hang on the tree… assuming Ada did not eat what he had popped first. We often shared bowls of popcorn around a fire in the evenings.”

“And why are the corns of Aman unsuitable for this type of… use?” Finarfin asked, intrigued by the blending of heritages all around him.

“The corns of Aman are for meal, feed grain, or oil. They do not pop very well and usually burn,” Elrond replied, pleased that their Aman kin were enjoying themselves. “The corn we used was a variety grown in southern Gondor and northern Harad, but it had few uses other than to pop.”

“I did not realize the Lady Yavanna created a plant in only Middle-earth and not here. I wonder at that,” the Noldorian High King observed.

“There are more than only the one, Uncle. If you are interested, you must visit us one day in the spring to tour our gardens and greenhouses. We have quite a few plants we brought with us that we have been unable to find on these shores. I have several beds of medicinals the Lady Estë requested I propagate for her use. If you are willing, perhaps one of you can take what we have ready to her when you return to the Gardens?” he suggested.

Receiving several nods, Elrond took a sip of his mulled wine before adding, “Then too, there are many plants here that we did not have in Middle-earth. I have been keeping an informal inventory to satisfy my curiosity in this matter. The reasons for these differences intrigue me as well.”

“This puts me in mind… my lady bid me tell you the Lady Yavanna will summon you and Erestor to attend her sometime before spring to discuss places where you may grow your miruvor vines… and some of the other treasures you horde in your greenhouse,” Melian interjected. “She was pleased to know you had brought them with you. She said it was as Eru intended that you should do this.”

Eyebrows raised in surprise, the peredhel murmured, “I had not realized. I knew I felt a compulsion to do this… as did Erestor, but… What a privilege to be allowed to do this!”

“Indeed!” Erestor breathed. “We will be shown a place to plant our vines? I had begun to despair we would find a suitable site before we lost our stock. I look forward to seeing this come to be.”

“This is great news! Our supply of miruvor may yet hold us through to the day we can harvest a new crop and craft a new vintage,” Elladan exclaimed, plans already forming in his mind. “If we can plant them this summer, we should be able to start our harvests in but ten years time.”

Laughing, Maidhlos reminded her suitor, “You might want to wait until they return from their audience with the Lady before you start planning for the first harvest. She may have other ideas for these plants.”

“But… what else could she mean other than for us to produce miruvor here in Aman? I know she makes the magical miruvórë, but… Do you really think…” he began.

Leaning over to press a quick kiss to his lips, she reassured, “I did not mean to disappoint you, love. I merely meant to caution you to wait before making plans until your father and Master Erestor return from having heard what she plans. As my Ada often reminds my brother and me, it is never wise to plan on having custard until the hens have laid the eggs.”

An amused voice from an elf comfortably settled into a large chair inserted, “I am amazed! I did not think either of you were listening.”

Trading a knowing smile with Thranduil, Elrond added, “Obviously, my sons were not listening when I told them the same! It will be interesting to see them fight the same battles we fought with them when their time comes.”

Amid the laughter inspired by the blushing couple, Legolas chose to change to the topic of conversation before his Ada decided to comment on his courtship of a Teleri maiden he had met since arriving in Aman. “Lord Elrond, can you share with us the origin of some of the other traditions the elves of Imladris observe? For instance, why is the traditional evergreen mixed with holly and fashioned into garlands and wreaths rather than simply placed in baskets as we did in Greenwood?”

Recognizing the diversion for what it was, Elrond rolled his eyes at the smirking elf king before answering. “The holly was a tradition of the Dúnedain. They began to add holly to their Yule wreaths and garlands to remind themselves of their heritage and the blood of those that came before. The red berries were also to remind them that, even in the cold, harsh winters of the north, there was always the hope of spring in their bright color. In the millennia that followed the fall of Gondor, many of Isildur’s descendants found shelter in Imladris and the practice eventually found its way into our celebrations.”

Looking toward his mother, he continued, “The garlands and wreaths were something that I found on visits to Númenor. Elros brought the elvish tradition of the use of evergreens to his kingdom, but began to encourage his people to shape the boughs into wreaths and garlands to symbolize the circle of life. The wreath in particular was to be a reminder that all children of the Ilúvatar were loved by their creator and would find life eternal in the manner of the fate he had granted them… the Eldar through immortality and the Secondborn beyond the circles of the world. They are a celebration of those destinies.”

Pointing to the tree, he repeated the story of Bilbo and the contributions of the Hobbits to the Imladrian traditions. “The mulled wine is a variation of the Dwarven tradition of spiced ale. Most of the Eldar prefer wine to ale, so Taerad modified it to suit our tastes.”

“Also from the Dwarves, we adopted the use of the red-leaved plants you see scattered around the room. This type of coloration requires that the plant be in a warm, dark place for a period of time to encourage the leaves to turn to these lovely shades. The Dwarves would bring them inside their caves in the fall and put them in a dark space for several months. At Yule, they were ready for the celebration.” A bittersweet smile recalled a time long ago. “Glorfindel and I discovered this secret while on a diplomatic mission to Khazad-Dûm for Ereinion in the years after the rings were forged. We brought a few of them back to Lindon and he liked them so much he made them part of the kingdom’s celebrations. We continued this practice in Imladris.”

“And where did the blown glass globes and metal objects originate?” Fingolfin asked, reaching over to lift one of the delicate balls from a basket near his chair. “They are lovely.”

“That is a tradition we began in Imladris when Erestor was but a newborn elfling. By the door, you will find our dear friend Orithil. He is a jeweler of great talent that came with us from the ruin of Eregion and helped us build our new home.” Smiling at the blushing elf, he continued, “Orithil made a filigreed silver ball lined with cobalt glass as a gift for Erestor’s first Midwinter celebration. He had once worked for Taerad’s Ada in Ost-in-Edhil and wanted to commemorate the birth of the first child born in our valley. Over the years, the making and giving of ornaments became another tradition we observed.”

Rising, he walked over to the tree and lifted a large basket nestled under its branches. “Speaking of this, we would like to offer these small tokens as a memento of this day in hopes you will continue to join us each year for our celebration.”

Tucking the handle of the basket over his arm, he lifted a lovely blown glass ball highlighted with swirls of red and gold. After checking the tag, he walked over to the High King and offered, “Uncle, may I offer you this as a gift from the elves of Imladris? You presence here today honors us.”

Slowly, he walked amongst the assembled, presenting the specially crafted balls to each of their guests. Stopping before Meril, he placed a ball blown in shades of cornflower blue and pale gold in her hands. “Your presence in our lives brings great pleasure to us all, Meril. I hope this is but the first of what will be many such celebrations you will join us in marking.”

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The dream settled softly over their minds and soothed their spirits. The image was a simple one… a pair of lovers cuddled close. A roaring fire lit the massive room, yet their eyes were fixed on the flicker of the candles that graced the towering fir. In the company of family and friends, they watched as a soft snow began to drift down, gently transforming the garden visible through the window behind the tree.

Sleep slipped slowly away from both sets of eyes. Their chambers did not seem as lonely as they had upon their retiring some hours earlier. A peace and a quiet certainty settled over their hearts. Both knew that their dream had been a gift… a shared prophecy of hope to mark the Midwinter celebration.

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A/N --- Thanks EC! Your support is greatly appreciated! Happy Holidays!