ELANOR'S REVENGE

Thank you very much to all our readers and reviewers! This will be the last chapter, but an epilogue will follow, hopefully to be written within a couple weeks.
All our best to you, Julie & Fianna

*********

Chapter Thirty-Six

Iriel strolled beside Elanor through the pathways of the garden where her daughter spent so much of her time, taking it in while Elanor pointed out some of its finest features. She watched Elanor’s face as she spoke, enjoying the tiny fluctuations that said she was indeed happy here. Never would Iriel have anticipated the developments that had occurred in Elanor’s life since she had left Imladris for Mirkwood. Iriel had expected Elanor eventually to find a mate within Imladris, the home of her father’s people where she was raised.

“And those are the steps leading to the glade where Galadriel keeps her mirror,” Elanor pointed out. “I rarely go down there.”

“Have you seen her mirror?” Iriel inquired curiously.

“Yes, I have seen it. But no one other than Galadriel gazes into its waters unless so bidden.”

Iriel smiled at Elanor. “I need not look into its waters to see your future, my daughter. It seems that you have found the one you will take as your life-mate.”

Elanor returned her smile. “I have, Naneth. We have not spoken yet of marriage, but he has said enough to tell me he thinks of it. When he does, I will be ready. My heart knows he is the one.”

“I am glad,” Iriel said simply. “I admit he has an appealing air about him, although I did not think so when first we met. A bit aloof, I thought him. Haughty, even.” She glanced apologetically at her daughter, and was surprised to see that Elanor’s eyes were twinkling.

“Oh, he can be terribly haughty at times,” she agreed. “He can be arrogant, aloof and quite annoying. But I love him deeply and I know he loves me also. And his good traits, Nana . . . they are without count, I promise you.”

Iriel could hear the love and pride in her voice. “That is well, then,” she said, and could not conceal a sigh. “If only your sister would find her life-mate, then I could . . . ” She broke off, realizing this was not the best way to approach the subject.

Elanor halted. “Could what, Nana?”

Iriel pressed her lips together, trying to think of a way to explain. “There is no easy way to say this, but there is something you should know.”

“What is it?” Elanor faced her, her blue eyes wide and a little worried.

“Your father and I . . . Elanor, we both hear the call of the sea.”

“The sea!” Elanor’s face went pale. “Nana . . . “

“It haunts me. I feel it in my blood, I hear it in my head, I smell it in my dreams. It is an ache from which I can find no ease. It hurts me here.” Her fingers touched her heart. “Your father suffers too.”

“How long have you felt it?” Elanor’s voice was a whisper.

“It began long ago, when your sister was a child. At first it was so soft and gentle, and came to me only now and then. But it has grown, and it is not gentle. I think I feel it more than your father, but he feels it too.” She reached out and took her daughter’s hand, holding them tightly. “My darling, we want to leave. We need to sail soon or else . . . ”

“Or else you will fade,” Elanor finished, her eyes moist with tears. “Nana . . . I cannot go with you. I wish I could, but—”

“Of course you cannot. Your life is here and so is Lana’s. Believe me when I say that I would not leave you if there was any other way. But I do not know what to do with your sister. She seems miserable here. I know not what to do. Have you any advice?”

A long moment passed before Elanor replied. “I know nothing of what you are feeling, Naneth, but it is clear to me that you and Ada must go. As for Lana, I suppose you could leave her here, in Lórien.”

Iriel heard the resignation in her voice. “You do not like the idea,” she prodded.

Elanor bowed her head. “No, I do not, but not because I do not love her.” Her voice was low and just a little flat. “Forgive me, Nana. I will set aside my wants for you and Ada, of course. Lana can stay here with me.”

Iriel put an arm around her and hugged her. “She can be difficult, I know that. But she is bound to grow up someday.” These last words were spoken mostly to herself. “Your father and I plan to speak to the Lady Galadriel. Perhaps a solution can be found that is to your liking, my dear.”

Each lost in her own thoughts, they turned and walked back the way they had come.

~*~

“Healea,” Galadriel said pleasantly, “did you send Hírion to see me the other day?”

Healea looked up from the manuscript that she had been laboring on for much of the morning. “Yes, my lady. I wished to be rid of him.”

“Oh?” Galadriel’s brows rose.

Healea set down her quill. “My lady, we have a problem and her name is Lanaewen.”

Galadriel came further into the room where Healea was working and stood next to her desk. “I am aware of it. What has this to do with Hírion?”

Healea explained, making sure to apologize for the lie she had told to Hírion. “This elleth does not belong in Lórien, my lady,” she finished baldly. “We need to make her leave.”

Galadriel regarded her blandly. “It is not that simple, my friend. Let me explain.”

Healea listened, but she did not like what it was she heard.

~*~

Lurien paced back and forth, trying to conceal his impatience but without much success. Where was she? She had agreed to meet him here in the relative privacy of this small garden, but she was late.

At long last a soft footfall warned of her arrival, and he swung around, attempting to look cool and collected. “Tarwë,” he said quietly. “I am glad you came.”

“What do you want, Lurien?” she asked, just as quietly. It was not a promising start.

“I want to talk to you. Come, will you sit with me?” He gestured to a bench tucked away inside a charming little arbor with a view of the flowers and tiny pond covered with lily pads.

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded and moved toward it without giving him a second glance. When they were seated, he reached for her hand, and though she allowed him to hold it, it seemed limp and lifeless.

He frowned. “I have missed you of late.”

“Have you?” She sounded indifferent. “You have been much occupied.”

He tried to decide if her coldness came from feeling neglected. “I thought of you often while I was gone,” he remarked. “I hoped you thought of me also.”

She gazed down at their linked hands. “I did, yes. From time to time.”

“What were your thoughts?”

She fell silent, as though attempting to recall something complicated. “I hoped you would stay safe,” she finally said. She seemed on the brink of adding something else, but then did not.

“But you have avoided me ever since my return from the Fences. I wish to know the reason why.”

At last she turned her head and looked him full in the face, but her blue eyes told him nothing. “I have decided it is better for me if our paths do not cross more often than necessary.”

Something strong and cruel compressed Lurien’s chest. “You do not mean this,” he protested. “You love me. You have always said so.”

He heard her take a deep breath. “I do love you, Lurien. And all the while you were gone, I thought of you. The night you came back, I thought of you. Each day since then I have thought of you. But where does it lead?”

Confused, he scanned her face. “It means we belong together, that is obvious. I love you too. Why should our paths not cross?”

She only gazed at him as though he were slightly stupid.

“Tarwë,” he went on, “I do not understand.” Just admitting that aloud made him feel weak, and he did not like it. He could feel his insides braced, as though from some interior shield that would guard him against an unthinkable hurt.

“What do you want of me?” she asked in a near whisper.

His heart beat faster, thumping hard in his chest. There had once been a time when he thought he understood her, but that time was past. Others were giving her advice, and she was hardening her heart against him. What was happening?

“I want to love you,” he said tersely. “I want you to be . . . ” A horrible feeling enclosed him, as though all the air had been squeezed from his lungs. What if? He could not say it, nor ask it. He knew it was weak but he could not continue, could not risk it, could not . . . his mind clamped shut on the thought.

“Be what?” she prodded, her gaze steady.

Lurien swallowed and tried again. “We had an understanding, you and I. We belong together.”

She smiled sadly. “Perhaps we were wrong. Perhaps I was wrong.”

“Why are you saying this?” He could hear the emotion in his voice, but at this point he did not care.

She rose to her feet and gazed down at him. “Because one of us needs to say it. You seem to think that you can build a bridge and make everything better, but things change, Lurien. Recollect that you risked everything to enact your revenge. What, now, are you willing to risk . . . for me?”

He, too, rose to his feet, and reached for her hands. “Give me another chance, Tarwë. I love you and only you. Let me show you how much.”

She shook her head. “No, Lurien. I do not think you have changed as much as you think.” She sounded desolate. “Once again, you expect me to be the one to yield.”

“I do not understand,” he said again, feeling irritable and desperate. “In what way do I not yield? I have taken no other to my bed. I have admitted we belong together and that I love only you. What more do you want from me?”

She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Strength. I want strength from you.”

If she had slapped him, it would have shocked him far less.

“I see.” He released her hands and clenched his fingers into his palms. His worst fears had come true; she saw him as weak and no longer wanted him. His lack of place and position, his descent into darkness, had forever marked him in her eyes.

“No, Lurien, I do not think you do,” she said softly, her voice full of pity and regret.

And with those words, she left him.

~*~

Lana was growing more and more unhappy with each day that passed. She was lonely and miserable, and the only person in the whole city who seemed to really like her at all was old Hírion. None of the ellith liked her, although a number of them had exchanged pleasantries with her, polite nothings that meant nothing and did not ease the loneliness inside her. As for the ellyn, she had her admirers. Plenty of them looked at her, many smiled at her, some flirted with her . . . but none of this satisfied Lana. She felt unloved, unworthy, and worthless in ways that went very deep into her essential core. Only Hírion seemed to want to talk to her, though he only spoke of herbs and poultices. He seemed to expect her to take an interest in such things as though she were one of his students, and so she did so half-heartedly, curiously flattered that he seemed to think her worthy of his time.

Still, she brooded. That Healea person had been dreadful, the twins were thoroughly hateful, Elanor thought only of herself and that conceited Haldir, and as for her parents . . . Lana shuddered. They understood nothing and never had. Well, perhaps long ago they had, before . . . she cut off the thought, as she always did. Even so, hysteria threatened to well up inside her, and in a fit of temper, she kicked at a plant beside the path along which she had been strolling.

“Another tantrum?” remarked a sardonic voice that was all too familiar.

Lana ignored him and kept walking, but Elrohir fell into step beside her, evidently determined to tease her without mercy as usual. She knew it was Elrohir because she had learned to distinguish between the twins, and of the two of them, she disliked him the most. Never again would she trust him for a moment, or his vile brother either!

“So, my dear, what has you in a temper today? A strand of hair refusing to stay in place? A wrinkle in your pretty gown?”

“Go away,” she said with a snap. “I do not wish to speak to you.”

“Nor do I wish to speak to you, but your father asked me to find you, and I said I would. I agreed to be your escort.” His lips quirked faintly, just enough for her to notice and take offense.

“I do not wish for your escort! You are reprehensible in my eyes.”

Elrohir sighed. “Perhaps so, but for the moment let us call a truce. I am fond of your father and would do this small service for him.”

Lana was not appeased. “Tell me where he is, and I will go alone. I do not need you to show me anything!”

Elrohir reached for her elbow. “He is in my grandmother’s garden, and-- ”

“That is all I need to know,” she shot back. She jerked away from his hand and ran off.

Exasperated, Elrohir followed swiftly after her. Normally he would have let her go, but Eluon was distraught over some personal matter, and had specifically asked him to perform this service. It appeared that Eluon had spent time with Galadriel, but discussing what, Elrohir knew not. Whatever the outcome of their talk, Eluon’s manner was preoccupied and somber, and while Elrohir had a dim view of Eluon’s handling of his youngest daughter, he genuinely wished to assist an ellon he considered a friend.

Elrohir allowed Lana to maintain a short distance ahead of him, but as she neared Galadriel’s garden, he increased his pace and caught up with her. “Stop,” he insisted, his hand once again on her arm. “Listen to me, Lana--”

“Let go of me, Elrohir! Go away!”

“Be reasonable,” he objected, restraining her. “Wait!”

Her arm swung toward him, and her hand cracked against his cheek. “Orc!” She flung the word at him like a weapon, one she had no idea how to wield.

“You little she-Orc,” he growled. Without a second thought he flipped her over his shoulder and, ignoring her pummeling fists and squawking protests, stalked through the arbor into the garden where her father waited near a bed of white roses.

“Lanaewan, what is this? Elrohir, what transpires here?” Looking appalled, Eluon rose quickly from the bench he had been sitting on, glancing back and forth between them.

“Ada, he is a beast!” Lana screeched, as Elrohir set her on her feet. “You must punish him!” She burst into tears, much to Elrohir’s disgust.

“Sir,” he said with a bow, “your daughter did not wish for my escort. However, having agreed to fetch her to you, I felt duty bound to provide it.” He knew this did not exactly justify his method of transportation, but decided not to apologize. He was far too irritated with her, and with himself for getting involved in this situation at all.

Eluon was looking sternly from Elrohir to Lana, but forbore to comment on her manner of arrival. “Exactly what is your objection to Elrohir’s escort, daughter?”

“He is a brute,” she sobbed. “I abhor him! He is a cruel, horrid, despicable Orc—”

Elrohir’s temper snapped. “You know naught of what you speak. If you had ever seen an Orc, you would not toss that word around so lightly. If you had ever known true suffering . . . ” He rounded on Eluon, saying tightly, “Forgive me, my friend, but your daughter’s conduct leaves much to be desired. What she wants is discipline!”

Eluon’s face was stricken. “Nay, forgive my daughter, I beg you. She does not understand what she is saying.”

“You do not know what he has done!” she flashed. “He and his horrible twin dangled me over the edge of the flet where Elanor fell—”

“To teach you a lesson which you unfortunately failed to learn,” Elrohir pointed out evenly. “And where I held you was not where she fell. You were in no danger, and you fell no greater distance than the height of two elves. Elladan and I were not cruel to you.” He considered whether he ought to apologize to Eluon, but had no chance to do so, for Lana was becoming more hysterical.

“Ada, you must do something!” She clutched frantically at her father’s tunic. “You must tell Galadriel what they did to me! They must suffer for it! This is not right!”

“I have already told you,” Eluon said tersely, “that I will do nothing of the sort. Calm yourself, please. The Lady of the Wood is not interested in our doings.”

“But we are guests here,” she insisted, “and I do not think she would wish me to be so treated! I have been threatened and tormented, not only by her vile grandsons, but by the elleth Healea. I have done nothing to deserve such treatment!”

Lana’s voice rose shrilly as she hurled her various grievances like tiny stinging arrows upon her father and Elrohir. Elrohir was rather shocked by the depth and force of her anger, as well as her readiness to reveal it to her father; Eluon seemed equally stunned and at a loss on what to say.

“Master Eluon,” Elrohir said, when Lana paused for breath, “your daughter is spoiled.”

“Oh, am I?” she fired back, her face pink with indignation. “And what of you and your wicked brother? Will Lady Galadriel let you do whatever you wish? Is she so proud that she will allow you to mistreat her guests?”

“And disrespectful,” Elrohir added, his voice curt.

“Lana!” Eluon said sharply. “That is enough!”

“I have been treated badly, Ada, and all I want—”

“—is a good spanking,” Elrohir cut in, rather grimly, “which I would be more than happy to deliver!”

To his surprise, Eluon nodded resignedly. “You are right, my friend. But I am weak and cannot do it. I give you permission to take her in hand.”

Lana gasped. “Ada, you cannot mean it!”

Eluon’s mouth flattened. “Indeed I do, daughter. I have not the strength to punish you, but it would do you good. Your tantrums fill me with shame and I can bear them no more. I have enough to sort out without this.”

As Lana turned to flee, Elrohir’s hand shot out and caught hold of her wrist. “Not so fast, Lanaewen. Your father has tasked me with your discipline and I intend to honor his request.”

Lana stared at them, her heart beating fast. She could not believe this was happening! She couldn’t seem to get through to her father, nor make him understand the magnitude of her anguish. He didn’t seem to care at all that she had been ill-treated; he had closed down again, becoming lost in that strange fog where no one but her mother could follow.

“Let go of me!” She tried to tug away, angered by the gleam in Elrohir’s eyes. He was enjoying this! “Ada, please!”

But her father had turned away, his head bowed as if with defeat.

Elrohir dragged her farther into the garden, around the corner of a hedge and past a long bed of dark purple flowers. Lana struggled, trying to kick or bite him, but to no avail. She was beyond words, too horrified and furious even to speak. Within moments she found herself lying facedown across Elrohir’s lap. He held her effortlessly, which made her feel even more powerless than she had felt before.

“So, milady,” he drawled, “at last you will receive that which you so richly deserve.”

“Release me!” she demanded, struggling futilely. “My father is not himself or he would never allow this! He will regret it later, and so will you!”

“He may regret it, but I never will.” Elrohir’s hand rested lightly on her backside while his other hand pressed down between her shoulder blades. “If you were my daughter, this would have happened long ago.”

“If I was your daughter, I would not be in this position!”

“How so?” he asked, sounding interested.

Lana thought of all the differences between the aggressive Elrohir and her quiet and passive father, but in the end she only snapped, “Oh, never mind. Has anyone ever told you that you have bony knees?”

Elrohir laughed. “No one but you, my dear. But enough talk. Let us get on with it.” She felt his hand lift and braced herself for what was to come.

“Elrohir!” uttered a stern female voice. The single word held such rich authority that Lana could not doubt its owner’s identity. Could her humiliation grow any worse?

“Yes, Grandmother?” Elrohir’s voice was respectful, yet full of mischief and bravado.

“Release her at once.” The sentence was spoken quietly, yet it carried the weight and power of the ages.

Elrohir assisted Lana to her feet with uncharacteristic gallantry. “I was merely doing Eluon’s bidding,” he said cheekily.

Knowing her face was bright red, Lana turned to look at the Lady Galadriel, whom until now she had only seen from a distance. To Lana’s astonishment, Elanor stood by the Lady’s side, her face revealing her distress and shock. Lana briefly considered dissolving into tears and hurling herself into Elanor’s arms, but something about Lady Galadriel’s demeanor made her hold her ground, her chin lifted high.

“Eluon is too distraught to think clearly.” Galadriel’s clear gaze lingered on Lana, and she held out her hand. “Come over here, child. Elrohir, you may go. You have teased this young elleth enough.”

From the corner of her eye, Lana saw Elrohir touch his hand to his heart. “As you wish.” With these words, he left them alone.

Obeying what was clearly a command, Lana walked over to stand before Galadriel, then bowed and touched her hand to her heart, which was again beating fast. Galadriel stood taller than either her or Elanor by a least half a head, and was an impressive figure with her flowing white gown, golden hair and crystal blue eyes. Lana was thoroughly intimidated, yet tried to conceal this out of what little pride she had left.

Galadriel looked her up and down. “It is time we met, Lanaewen of Imladris.” She said nothing further, but instead gazed deeply into Lana’s eyes for long moments before she sighed. “I see what lies within your heart. Fear of loss has ruled your life, robbing you of joy, creating much misery for you and those around you.”

Lana opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it and remained still, held captive by Galadriel’s gaze.

“When we yield to fear, we shut out love and light and hope,” Galadriel said. “The walls close in, leaving nothing but despair, wretchedness and an anger that destroys all it touches. You, Lanaewen, have lived like this for most of your life. You have used fear and anger as weapons to punish those who love you or would be close to you.”

“Oh, Lana,” Elanor murmured sorrowfully. “Why?”

Lana shot her a look of sullen resentment. “Can you really not know? Can you truly be so blind?”

“What do you mean?”

Galadriel glanced briefly at Elanor. “That which you have only just learned, your sister has known for most of her life. Do I not speak truth, Lanaewen?”

Lana hesitated, then nodded. “You do, my lady.”

Elanor’s face had gone white. “Lana, oh dear Elbereth, you mean that you knew . . .?”

“That Ada and Nana want to sail away and leave us alone?” Lana said harshly. “Yes, I have known for years and years, ever since I was an elfling. I heard them talking about it one day when they thought they were alone.”

“Do you know why your father summoned you today?” Galadriel asked in a gentler voice than she had used thus far.

“No,” Lana admitted.

Galadriel continued to hold her gaze, and Lana found she could not look away. “Do you know about my mirror? Have you been told what I can see in it?”

“Yes, my lady,” Lana whispered, after a moment’s pause.

“At your father’s behest, I gazed into my mirror with him at my side. We both saw the same scene unfold in its waters. It involved your mother.” Galadriel paused. “If she does not sail soon, she will fade.”

Tears welled up in Lana’s eyes, spilling over and sliding down her cheeks as the reality of the situation finally took root. These tears were real, and they came from the very depths of her soul. A moment later, she felt Elanor’s arms go around her, and she leaned against her sister, welcoming her embrace as she struggled to regain her composure.

“Worry torments your father,” Galadriel continued. “He worries for you, Lanaewen, as well as for your mother. He is not as weak as you think, but he faces a difficult situation.”

“They must sail,” Lana sobbed. “I do not want my mother to die.”

“Yes, child, they must sail. And so, to that end, I have made Eluon an offer, one he has accepted only because he knows he must. He has no other choice. Are you prepared to hear it?”

Lana lifted her head from Elanor’s shoulder. “Please tell me.”

Galadriel gestured toward the curved bench which Elrohir had recently vacated. “Let us sit,” she said, and when they had done so, she added, calmly, “After he gazed into my mirror, your father made his decision. He and your mother will sail before the year’s end. Elanor will remain here in Lórien, of course, and so shall you, Lanaewen. However, Elanor will not be tasked with your care. You will have a guardian, and you will have a teachers. You will make a life for yourself here, and, whether you believe it now or not, you will be happy here.”

Lana experienced the strangest feeling of relief, yet could not have explained the reason to anyone. “Who will be my guardian?” she asked numbly.

“I will,” said Galadriel calmly. “And Healea has agreed to be one of your teachers. You dislike her now, but you will grow to like her very much in time. Perhaps Hírion will be another teacher, for I see before you a path of healing. That is something you must decide.”

“But Healea loathes me,” she protested.

Galadriel smiled faintly. “You must earn her respect, but you are capable of that. It will take time. You will have to work hard and change your ways.”

Elanor broke her self-imposed silence. “You will come to like Healea. She is good, and fair, and loyal to her friends.”

Lana shook her head. “She will never accept me as her friend. No one here in Lórien likes me.”

“That too will change,” the Lady informed her. “Once you begin to change your attitudes, you will find that everything else shifts. That is the way life is, child. Fill your heart with light, and it will reach into the darkest corners.”

Lana gazed down at her fingers, trying to summon the courage to ask the question burning in her mind. “And . . . will I ever marry?” she asked timidly.

This time Galadriel did smile. “Of course you will. But do not ask me to tell you more than that. Much time will pass before you are ready for him, or he for you. You have much growing to do.”

Lana sighed dejectedly. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

~*~

Haldir traveled quickly back to Caras Galadhon, his eager thoughts already on Elanor. Three weeks had passed since he’d left her to resume his tour of duty at the Fences, and he hoped nothing untoward had taken place while he was absent. With Elanor’s parents and sister there, he knew anything might have occurred; they were an odd family, one he did not greatly understand, but they were Elanor’s kin and he accepted them. He only hoped he could be with her tonight and not be dragged into any kind of family gathering.

After hours of traveling, he at last reached the city gates and entered the city. As always he looked around with pride at the place that was his home, finding it much more satisfying than other elven realms that he had visited. To live here with Elanor was an even greater gift, one that filled his heart with joy beyond all measure. Despite the evil that threatened Arda, despite the danger they faced, he was as happy and at peace as he could be until he took her with him to Valinor. And that would not be anytime soon.

As it happened, he found her easily enough on the terrace of his own talan. She was tending the plants there, and glanced up when he stepped though the doorway, her expression startled and delighted.

“Haldir!” She leaped to her feet and threw herself into his waiting arms. “You are back!”

Their lips met for a long, sweet kiss, and then he lifted his head and smiled down at her. “Are you glad to see me?”

Her passionate reply pleased him very much, and it was a long while before they spoke any more than whispered endearments and each other’s names. When that finally occurred, they were both lying on his bed, entwined in each other’s arms, their only covering a smooth white bed sheet made of the finest elvish linen.

He smoothed a loving hand down her soft dark hair. “That was a very nice welcome, Elanor.”

She smiled, the tips of her fingers making little circles on his bare chest. “I felt that you were returning soon, but did not know which day. It is difficult to wait, sometimes. I miss you so when you are gone.”

“I know. I miss you too.” He kissed her brow. “But I am here now. Is all well with you?” When she did not answer at once, he frowned slightly and tilted her chin upward with his hand. Her eyes were suddenly moist with tears. “What is it, love? What is amiss?”

He listened somberly as she related her mother’s tale, and then frowned during her recital of the scene with Lana. Privately, he thought it a pity that Galadriel had interrupted Elrohir before he could carry out Eluon’s bidding, but he trusted the Lady too much to question her wisdom.

“So your sister will remain here, and your parents will sail. When?”

“Soon, Haldir,” Elanor replied, her voice faltering with emotion. “Before Echuir, the time of stirring.”

Haldir considered this thoughtfully. “Elanor, my heart, it is time we discussed our future.”

“You are not ready.” She touched his hair, her eyes gentle. “I do not want you to feel forced into anything.”

He raised himself up on one elbow, gazing down at her with love and longing.

“I am more than ready, and I feel forced into nothing. I love you, Elanor. And it is time to ask the question I would not ask before when you were healing. Will you bind with me, my love? Will you be my wife for all time?”

There had been a time when he had wondered if he would ever say such words to anyone, but they were words he had longed to say to Elanor almost since the moment of their first meeting.

Time came to a standstill in that moment before her reply, as though all the years of his life until this moment were as the twilight of the dawn before the sun’s rising.

“I will happily be your wife, dear Haldir,” she whispered, with moisture in her eyes. “It is my greatest wish. You are my life and my heart, and I would have no other, ever. Surely you know this.”

Yes, he had known she would agree, and yet a surge of intense joy roiled through him, catching him off guard with its intensity. The sun had risen, marking the creation of a new life for them both.

He bent and kissed her softly on the lips, tasting her sweetness while drinking in the sight of her. “I have known we would marry from the night I first made you my own,” he said huskily, “but hearing you say it fills me with happiness beyond all words.”

Smiling, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, lovingly and tenderly. “Do you wish to announce our betrothal at once?”

“Yes, we must tell your parents tomorrow. It will make it easier for them to leave if they see you wed first.”

“You mean betrothed, do you not?”

He shook his head. “Do you not think it would be better to contravene convention? Your parents could announce our betrothal in a formal ceremony sometime soon. I know the laws of the Eldar say that a betrothal should stand for at least a year, but there are exceptions. Your parents are leaving, Elanor. Let us give them a gift to take with them. We will marry and have our marriage feast so they can carry that memory with them when they go.”

She nodded. “I am most willing, as long as Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn approve. The Lady is still my guardian.”

“The year is almost up. A year and a day it was, and by my count, only twenty days remain.”

“You have been counting?” The corner of her mouth lifted playfully.

“Indeed,” he said with lazy tenderness. “I intended to ask you to be my wife on the first day your service was up. Now, we will wed on that day.”

To his surprise, Elanor’s face began to quiver, revealing the depth of her emotion. “Oh, H-Haldir!” She buried her face in his shoulder, her arm wrapped tightly around him while her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

He held her for a long time, soothing her with murmured endearments and small kisses on her temple until he knew she was calm. “I do not think this is cause for tears, my love,” he softly teased.

She lifted her head, giving him a watery smile. “No, it is just this, as well as my parents sailing. Two events that change my world in the profoundest of ways. One gives me the greatest of all joys while the other leaves a shadow across my heart.”

“I know, my love,” he whispered, still holding her close. “I know.”

~*~

Elanor and Haldir’s betrothal ceremony took place a week later in the same small garden where Orophin had had his begetting day celebration. Haldir had had the foresight to have silver rings made some weeks prior, and these were exchanged in the presence of all family members and close friends as well as the ruling couple. Elanor wore a silver gown, her hair elegantly arranged by Nerwen’s clever fingers, while Haldir looked composed and magnificent in dark forest green. Elrond beamed his delight, the Lord and Lady were regally pleased, and Rúmil and Orophin both grumbled about being betrothed before Haldir, with lots of teasing going on about Haldir wanting to be first at everything.

But despite their good-natured protests, their elder brother would marry two weeks hence. Even now, gold rings were being forged, rings that would take the place of the silver rings the couple now wore.

Iriel and Eluon were calmly dignified, and expressed their contentment with the path their daughter had chosen. Lana was quiet and less sullen than usual, and seemed lost in a world of her own. As for Lurien, he stood silently apart, his manner subdued and pensive. No one deliberately excluded him from the festivities, but he did not join in, nor did he glance at Tarwë more than two or three times. Tarwë avoided looking at him altogether, and those who noticed sensed tension between them, but they were all too polite to mention it.

After the exchange of rings, Eluon and Iriel’s departure was formally announced along with the date of their leave-taking, which would be one week after Elanor’s marriage. They would travel to the Grey Havens with Elrond and the rest of the Imladris party, who would continue on to Imladris after the ship sailed.

The guests gathered around a trestle table that had been set up with various foodstuffs and wines, nibbling on various delicacies while chatting about either serious or frivolous matters, depending on the speakers.

Healea watched Túre’s face, noting the way Túre turned into the curve of Telrion’s arm and gazed adoringly up at him. She still did not like him much, but he clearly loved Túre and was good for her. Moments later, Túre turned to Healea with a guilty look that made Healea wince on the inside.

“I must go away with him,” Túre said gently, “now that I have found him at last. You understand this, do you not? I love him.”

Pain surged through Healea, pain she was sure must be visible on her face. At least Telrion was polite enough not to gloat, though he did not like her much. After all, he was taking away her closest friend, one she had shielded, guided, cared for and loved since they were children, and it would not be easy to say goodbye.

“Yes, Túre, I understand,” she said in a steady voice. “You must follow your heart as we all must do. I understand and accept your decision to leave.”

Túre touched her arm, her voice filled with emotion. “I will always love you, Healea. I am sure we will see each other again, though it may not be soon.”

“Indeed we shall.” Healea fixed her gaze on Telrion, who lifted his chin and stared back. “I will come to Imladris and fetch you back myself if he does not make you happy,” she said, loud enough for him to hear.

“I will be happy,” Túre assured her. “And you must come and visit when you can.”

“I will do that someday,” Healea said, enjoying the slight tightening of Telrion’s jaw that told her he was gritting his teeth. “I will bring Cothion. He enjoys the library there, as do I.”

“Good.” Túre embraced her, then drew back and gave her a searching look. “But you are happy for me, truly?”

Healea cradled her closely, as she would a daughter. “I am happy for you truly, my dear friend. Be joyful and do not look back.”

“I will be joyful,” Túre answered, and went back to her lover.

Healea turned away, and immediately caught her husband’s gaze. Come here, it said to her, and she went, crossing the clearing to where he stood chatting with Elrond near a vibrant flowerbed holding blooms that were not flourishing outside of Lórien at this time of year. Cothion slid his arm around her waist, and Elrond, reading the situation correctly, moved discreetly away.

“You are sad, my love,” Cothion murmured, his lips near her ear.

Healea nodded, her eyes speaking to him in silent communication.

“Túre follows the path of her heart, Healea. It is what she must do.” His face was caring, filled with strength and wisdom.

“I know,” she said gruffly.

“I know you know,” he said tenderly. “Because you are the wisest of all ellith.”

She smiled slightly and shook her head. “That is not true and you know it. But I did choose you,” she added, “and that shows I have at the very least some common sense.”

“My point exactly.” He kissed her brow and whispered in her ear, reminding her of things he had taught her, and things they had learned together, about life and love and the timeless existence of the Elves. Healea listened, letting his quiet words wash over her, soothing away her sorrow and nourishing her in ways that no one else had ever been able to do.

Meanwhile Tarwë had approached Lord Elrond, who had been standing alone, contemplating a cluster of dark red flowers with a thoughtful air. “My lord?” she said, rather shyly. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

Lord Elrond glanced up. “Of course. You are Tarwë, are you not?”

Tarwë nodded and forced a smile. “I am Tarwë, daughter of Tulcë and Tarnon. They sailed West long ago, my lord.”

“You must miss them,” he said kindly.

“I do, yes.” Tarwë drew a breath. “I would like to join them, my lord. I wish to sail on the ship with Elanor’s parents.”

His gaze grew intent, those wise eyes of his discerning. “You feel the call of the sea?”

Tarwë hesitated. “Not exactly, but there is nothing for me here.”

Elrond looked over her shoulder at Lurien, who stood some distance away, looking aloof, alone and lonely. “Are you so certain of that?”

“I am certain,” she said steadily.

“Then I shall be glad to provide you with an escort to the Grey Havens. However, I strongly counsel you to consider carefully this decision. There is no coming back once you have left these shores. Those you leave behind are parted from you until they too sail. It could be a very long time.” He had kept his voice neutral, but she was aware that he knew more than almost anyone whereof he spoke.

“I understand,” Tarwë said in a low voice. This time she could not conceal her wretchedness, and she knew from the expression on Lord Elrond’s face that he was aware of the conflict seething inside her. “And I shall consider carefully, my lord. Thank you for your kindness.”

She slipped away, weaving her way among the guests in a roundabout path that kept her far from Lurien. Elrond saw him turn to watch her, and felt moved to walk over to him.

“Good evening, Lurien. A fine evening, is it not?”

Lurien looked at him blankly, as though startled to find the lord of Imladris addressing him. “Very, my lord,” he agreed, after a moment’s hesitation.

Elrond looked him over, assessing the ex-sentinel with a critical eye. “I hear your plans for your bridge have finally been approved.”

“Yes.” Lurien was frowning. “My lord, if I may ask . . . what did Tarwë say to you just now?”

Elrond regarded him with pity. “She wishes to sail, Lurien. Or so she says. Has she spoken of this to you?”

Lurien’s face turned white. “No, she has not,” he admitted. He was clearly shocked, and it was taking a great deal for him to remain in control.

“I am sorry, Lurien. Perhaps you should speak to her. It is a great decision to make, one that cannot be altered once undertaken.”

Lurien nodded numbly and excused himself.

~*~

Nerwen paced back and forth the length of Tarwë’s little terrace, too tense and worried to be able to sit beside her friend while they talked.

“Why will you not see him?” Nerwen asked in confusion. She was more than a little perturbed by her dear friend’s decision to sail, and in this situation, she had decided to take Lurien’s side. “After all that you have been to each other, do you not think you should talk? I do not understand you!”

Tarwë shook her head. “I will not see him. He weakens me, and if I am going to do this, I need strength.”

“If you did not love him, he could not weaken you.”

“That is my point, Nerwen.”

Nerwen sighed. “He loves you, Tarwë. Can you not see that?”

“He does not love me enough.”

“How do you know? He rejected Gwirith, did he not? As for that Lana person, anyone can see she did not interest him. She is a sly little chit with neither sense nor judgment. He looks at no one but you.”

Tarwë’s blue eyes were haunted. “He thinks he wants only me, and perhaps he does for the present. Perhaps I will be enough for him for years to come. But eventually he will tire of me and turn to another.”

Nerwen stopped her pacing and stood directly in front of her friend with her fists on her hips. “Not if you two bonded,” she pointed out.

“That must be a shared decision,” Tarwë said quietly. “Even if he were to ask me, which he will not, I would refuse. No, Nerwen, I am sorry, but I must leave. I love you and my other friends, but I have borne enough pain. I will sail to the Undying Lands and be reunited with my parents.”

Filled with sorrow and frustration, Nerwen shook her head. “Oh, Tarwë,” she whispered. “I think you are making a huge mistake.”

~*~

Elanor woke early on the day of her wedding, with a smile on her face and memories of sweet and tender dreams dancing in her thoughts. She was thankful that her family could be here to witness and bless her marriage, and her only wish was that Haldir’s parents could also have been here. But at least his brothers were here, and that was also a blessing.

A mere year ago, she would never have believed that this would be happening. So much had changed; *she* had changed and grown in ways she would never have predicted. And even though her parents’ departure loomed near, she was determined that this would be the happiest of all days for her and for Haldir.

As the hour of the marriage feast grew near, Elanor’s mother and sister assisted her with her gown and hair. Elanor’s gown was white and gold, a gift from Lady Galadriel that had come as a complete surprise.

“For my ward, with my love and good wishes,” the Lady had said with one of her beautiful, warm smiles. “It has been one of my favorite gowns, and from this day forward, it is yours.”

So it was that on this of all days, Elanor wore a gown that was unusually fine and richly decorated, with lace and gold thread and gauzy layers that made her feel like the most beautiful elleth alive. Doria had altered the length, since Galadriel was slightly taller than Elanor, and the gown now fit perfectly.

“You look lovely, my darling,” Iriel assured her with tears in her eyes.

“Yes, you do, Elanor,” Lana agreed. Of late she seemed to have shed some of her bitterness, for which Elanor was profoundly thankful. Instead she seemed quieter and a bit more introspective, although these changes were subtle, and perhaps not noticeable to one who did not know her well.

Lana had gathered some golden elanor blooms, and these she wove into her sister’s hair while Iriel sang a soft, sweet song about love that neither of her daughters had heard her sing in a very long time. Peace filled Elanor’s heart, and for the first time she felt that she could accept her parents’ departure without devastating sorrow and a sense of loss. Time flowed along like an endless river, and eventually they would all be together again.

As was custom, the marriage was to be celebrated with a feast, shared by both families as well as friends, and situated in the largest clearing in Caras Galadhon. As the time neared, Elanor grew nervous, but this emotion faded as soon as she set eyes on Haldir. Dressed in his finest tunic, also of white and gold, his familiar gaze reassured her, reminding her that all was as it should be.

Before the feast, Elanor’s mother bestowed upon Haldir a chain of gold that had been in her family for many years, while her father gave to Elanor a jewel of flashing blue set into a slim and delicate necklace. And when the time came, near the end of the feast, for the exchange of rings, Elanor’s mother and father came forth and joined Elanor’s and Haldir’s hands together and gave a formal blessing upon the union in the name of Eru, with Varda and Manwë named witness.

Elanor stood proudly at Haldir’s side, knowing they were making the right choice and that all present approved and celebrated along with them. In exchange for the silver betrothal rings, they gave each other slender rings of gold, beautifully wrought by the skillful hands of Thórion, the master smith and close friend to Haldir’s family.

Haldir slipped it onto her index finger with a small smile, saying, “For you, meleth nín, to wear always and forever. A tribute to my eternal love.”

Elanor slid the second ring onto his finger, speaking similar words to him, and then they kissed and it was done. Of course it was only ritual, done for the sake of their families; the real marriage would be achieved later by bodily union accompanied by a joining of the fëa, whereupon the bond would be complete and everlasting.

Lana watched these proceedings with a curiously heavy heart. All week she had been excited about the wedding, which had brought her family much notice and made people friendlier, even to her. As Elanor’s sister she had felt important, and with Galadriel’s protection, she had felt safer, but now those feelings settled like pebbles in a stream, leaving an emptiness that seemed to grow with every passing minute.

The revelry that commenced at the end of the feast, with its music and dancing, provided her with the opportunity she needed to slip away. Feeling sorry for herself, her newfound feelings of acceptance floundering, she hurried down one path and then another, heading as far away from the merriment as she could get.

Tears flowed down her cheeks, reminding her of that other time she had run away and cried. At least this time the horrible twins were occupied dancing with ellith and would not chase after her to taunt and mock her. Right now she only wanted to be alone for a while, and then she would dry her tears and return, and perhaps even be able to enjoy herself again.

These were her last thoughts before she slammed into a solid rock of a male chest. Strong hands instantly gripped her, preventing her from falling or moving on around him, which she was trying to do. But instead of apologizing, or asking her if she was hurt, or releasing his hold of her, or anything even remotely gallant, he simply stared down at her.

“Let me go!” she said angrily. She tried to jerk away, but he did not allow it. Instead, he held her at arm’s length, evaluating her with such arrogance that she longed to slap him.

“Such haste,” he remarked, his attitude critical. “And a sharp-edged tongue too. Neither will avail you here in Lórien, youngling. You ought to heed the words of those wiser than you instead of lashing out.”

Tall, broad and silver-haired, he was obviously a warden, for he wore the standard attire and warrior braids, and carried one of the great red bows of the Galadhrim. He reminded her of Haldir somehow, with his wide shoulders and muscular physique, as well as the haughty way he was looking down his nose at her. His voice had a low, deep timbre that, again, reminded her of the Marchwarden.

“Oh, really?” She lifted her chin, glaring at him indignantly. “You do not know what you are talking about. You do not even know who I am—”

“I know who you are. You are Elanor’s sister. I also know you should be at the wedding feast instead of running off to cry like a child over some imagined slight.” His dark blue gaze raked over her, displaying not the slightest hint of male admiration despite that she was wearing her very best gown and had taken particular care with her hair.

“You know nothing of the matter! Let me go!”

He released her with a soft snort. “I know more than you think, Lanaewen of Imladris. But have no fear that I will detain you. I have no interest in ill-mannered children.” And without another word, he stepped around her and strode away, his long legs carrying him swiftly toward wherever he was headed.

“Ooh!” Outraged, Lana stared after him, then darted away, putting as much distance between them as fast as she could. Whoever he was, he was the most conceited and disagreeable ellon in all of Lórien!

~*~

Sarnion walked away feeling strangely unsettled and annoyed with the silly young elleth. Why this was so, he did not know, but he had barely rounded the next bend when he came face to face with the Lady of Light, exquisite and lovely in a gown of shimmering blue.

“Sarnion,” she said with a sympathetic look. “It is good to see you here at last. You are late. You have missed the exchange of rings.”

He bowed his head and touched his heart, surprised to find her so far from the festivities. “A small matter at the Fences delayed me, my lady, but it has been resolved. I go now to change my attire so I can honor my commander on the day of his marriage.”

Galadriel smiled slightly and rather oddly. “And I go to offer counsel and comfort to a certain young elleth who needs a great deal of guidance.”

Sarnion scowled. “You will need patience to deal with that one, my lady. She has no more sense than an unseasoned babe, and probably much less. I do not envy you your task.”

“I am sure you do not. And yet, Sarnion, I sense conflict in you.”

He considered this. “Not conflict, my lady, merely . . . disquiet.”

“Ah yes, disquiet. I can understand that.”

“My lady?” He lifted a brow.

“Sometimes change comes upon us when we least expect it,” she said obliquely.

Sarnion concealed his confusion, maintaining an impassive demeanor. “True enough,” he said politely, “but I am ever wary.”

“Some things are inevitable,” she added, with a near twinkle. “One may be wary, but one may not avoid one’s destiny, Sarnion.”

He remained silent, praying he misunderstood her meaning.

“She will grow wiser, in time,” Galadriel said gently. “Many long years will pass before that happens, but it will come to pass. The future holds good things for you, my friend, whether you believe it or no.”

Sarnion stared at her, unsure what to say.

“Go now,” she advised him in a kind voice, “and celebrate with our Marchwarden. Do not concern yourself with what lies ahead. The future takes care of itself.”

Sarnion touched his heart and took his leave. He had much to think about, but now was not the time.

~*~

Later that night, Haldir gazed down at Elanor with a very contented smile, a proud tilt to his chin, his pale skin luminous in the moonlight. They stood facing each other on the terrace of his talan—their talan—excited and breathless with anticipation of their sacred union.

“Well, my love, my Elanor?” he murmured huskily. “What have you to say to me now?”

Her arms slid up to encircle his neck and drew him close. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” she whispered. “Sing to me, my darling. Sing to me under the stars, and then I shall melt with you and we shall be as one.”

And so he did, choosing a love song of old, his rich voice quiet, wrapping around her like a curtain of dreams, enfolding her in warmth and a love that would last for all time.

Did the song actually end? Elanor was unsure, even when his mouth was on hers, for its tune seemed to linger inside her, mingling with the throb of her heart and her passion for him, its lush and sensual melody spinning on without end. Their bodies moved, first in a slow, deliberate dance to the cadence that hung in the air, then down to the blankets so carefully spread on the flooring. Their bonding would take place here, under the glimmering light of the Seven Stars, with Ithil as their witness.

Eagerness soon overtook them, their kisses more heated, soaring along with the rise of the moon. Her fingers tousled his starlit hair, her own thick tresses an ebony veil against her pale shoulders. With soft sounds of pleasure they courted and loved, their bodies locked in the sweetest and most ancient of dances, a coupling to carry them to the stars and beyond. Fire burned, flaring out in a grand display, while within, in silver stillness, their bonding took place, blending satin with silk to yield a new fabric far more beautiful than either had known before.

Two had been made into one, never to be separated unto the end of the world.

Afterward, they lay unmoving, nearly shattered by the experience, pressed as close together as it was possible for two people to be.

“We do not need the indwaedh any more, Elanor,” Haldir said softly. “Our fëar are joined, can you feel it? The bond is as strong, if not stronger, than the jewels we wear.”

“I feel you now more than ever,” she whispered. “You are in my mind, my heart and my blood.”

“Without end, Elanor. We will always be like this. You are my wife now.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder and gazed deeply and tenderly into his eyes. “And you are my husband, Haldir of Lórien. I will love you for all time with all of my being.”

He smiled and brushed back her hair from her face. “I know, Elanor. I will love you for all time also. You have my vow.”

~*~

[tbc – a final epilogue will follow this chapter; hopefully within a couple weeks. We hope you enjoy the ending of our story, and thank you for reading.]