No Road Home

Part the Seventh

Maltheneldor busied himself straightening Windwalker's room as she sat silently in the armchair in the corner. "Is there anything I can do for you, mistress?" he asked quietly.

"No, Maltheneldor, thank you," came the soft answer.

"You are in pain again, are you not?" the servant observed gently.

"I'm afraid so," Wind sighed. "It happens more and more often, I've noticed. I guess...we know what that means."

Maltheneldor flinched, not wanting to think about its meaning. "Perhaps if my lady had something to do, to occupy her mind..."

"I'd been thinking about that very thing, Maltheneldor," Unole mused. "Would you help me with some things?"

"I would be happy to. What do you require?"

"I want to make Elrond something," she admitted. "Something special. A thank-you, and a...reminder of me, when I'm gone."

"He will never forget you, milady," Maltheneldor informed her softly.

Wind nodded, choking up. "I'll carry his memory with me, too, to the Other Side," she whispered. "But, Maltheneldor, I really want to do this."

"Very well. Tell me what you need."

"I need some garment leather, some sinew, and some small seed beads. Does Elrond have a...a heraldic symbol, or anything like that? You know, something that says, 'This is Elrond's?'"

"He does, milady."

"Then can I see what the design looks like?"

"That is easily accomplished," Maltheneldor said. "Anything else?"

"No. I already have leather needles."

"Then I will return shortly with what you require."


Maltheneldor assisted Windwalker as she began her leatherwork, helping her cut the leather, develop the details of the design, and select bead colors. She worked long and hard on it in secret for several days before Maltheneldor suggested she stop.

"Milady, you grow tired. Rest from working on it today."

"I don't dare, Maltheneldor," Wind answered, worried. "I have to finish it before..."

Maltheneldor nodded his understanding, hiding his sadness, bringing her the scissors as she trimmed excess sinew.


Elrond watched helplessly day by day as Windwalker slowly deteriorated. Her decline had slowed, it was true, due to the attentions his household gave her, and the food he and Maltheneldor coaxed into her, but it had not stopped. Each day he noted some new decrease in her, and it filled him with intense pain.

"My lord," Maltheneldor said softly one day, as he observed his master watch the human woman from his study, "if I could prevent this for you, I would."

"What?" Elrond asked absently, turning.

"You have lost enough," Maltheneldor offered, something like desperation in his tone. "Is it not time for you to keep one you love?"

Elrond stared blankly at his manservant. 'One you love...' echoed in his ears. "How...is it...?" Elrond whispered, shaken to the core of his being.

"It is obvious to us all, master." Maltheneldor bowed his head in grief. "She has never yet complained, nor said a harsh word, though she is certainly in pain. You have chosen well. If only she might live, you would both be happy."

As Maltheneldor sadly withdrew, Elrond sat down heavily in a nearby chair. "Ai, Eru," he whispered hoarsely, "what have I done? I cannot be...but I am." He glanced out the window at Windwalker, seeing her too-thin body with its inherent grace, not the grace of the Eldar certainly, but grace nonetheless; the expressive face with dark eyes so full of gentle caring; the slim hands that caressed the animals lightly, tenderly. The vision he had had aboard ship, of Windwalker lying alone and dead in a barren field, returned to his mind's eye, and he groaned softly, in agony. The thought of her, silenced and still in death, sent his breath ragged, his hands clutching into fists. 'I will go mad,' he thought, grief-stricken. 'Even the Eldar can only withstand so much.'

Suddenly in his mind, he heard the echo of Mithrandir's voice. "Were she to be bound to one of the Eldar, this thing might be accomplished."

Hope ignited in Elrond.


The next morning Elrond rose from bed, having slept little. All his thoughts turned toward Windwalker, and to the knowledge that he was about to lose her, unless he could find a way to bind her to himself. He was more than agreeable to the notion, indeed was eager to do so. His loins now ached for her. But he had no idea if Windwalker was willing, or even found him pleasing.

"I must determine if she would be amenable," he murmured to himself, as he had done all night, "but...how?"

He mulled on it as he dressed, glancing out to see that Wind had already emerged on the terrace and awaited him at the table Maltheneldor had set for their breakfast. He scanned himself in the looking-glass on the wall, abruptly deciding against wearing his over-robe or the fillet of mithril that normally adorned his brow. 'I will be less formal with her,' he considered, 'that I may put her more at ease. She is of my house now, anyway.'

He stepped forth then, attired only in his embroidered tunic pulled over his undershirt and trousers, bare feet padding silently across the flagstones. "Mae govannen," he smiled as he approached. (well met)

"Oh!" Windwalker jumped, startled. "Someday maybe I'll catch on that you're there. On second thought..." he saw the knowledge of her approaching death in her eyes, "never mind."

"Your mortality troubles you," he noted softly, pained. They turned toward the table, and Elrond held her chair for her before taking his own seat.

"Yeah," Windwalker admitted, turning toward him. "I finally find the most gorgeous place in the world, and actually make a real friend," she laid her hand lightly on his arm, "and then have to lose it all."

"You consider me a friend?" Elrond asked, touched.

"Oh, of course, Elrond," came her answer. "I don't quite know how to treat you, though. I've never had a proper friend before."

"You are more than friend, Unole," Elrond dared. "You are...family." Maltheneldor brought their food as he spoke, and the manservant caught his master's eye, conveying his encouragement.

"That's so sweet of you, Elrond," Wind's voice was soft. Her eyes shone. "I wish I could repay you for all you've done for me. I know you've defied the Council..."

"Master Elrond brought them around to his thought," Maltheneldor interjected, giving Elrond a quick, mischievous glance, as he attempted to raise his master's esteem in the eyes of his beloved. Elrond raised his eyebrow in amusement at his cheeky servant.

"Oh, good," Wind exclaimed, relieved. "I was afraid they'd be mad at you."

"There is no fear of that," Elrond said mildly.

"You're dressed casually today," Wind noted, nibbling at some toast with honey. "Did you oversleep?"

"No," Elrond answered. "I thought it was high time to...be less formal with you."

"Oh," Wind smiled, pleased.

Elrond noticed that she tried to surreptitiously observe him, a thing which pleased him; but he gave no outward sign. After a few moments, she noted, "Your feet are bare."

"They are. Sometimes I enjoy the feel of the stones and grasses beneath my feet."

"But it's still chilly this morning. You'll get cold," she remarked, concerned.

"It is of no consequence, Unole," Elrond told her. "As you know, I do not get ill, so no serious harm can come of it."

Maltheneldor, who had stood back against the wall until needed, stepped forward. "Would you like for me to get them, milady?" he asked Windwalker meaningfully.

Elrond's eyebrows rose curiously as Unole nodded, considering. "Yes, Maltheneldor, I think so."

The servant stepped through the French door into Windwalker's room, returning with a small leather bundle. "Here you are, Mistress Unole."

"Wado, Maltheneldor," she smiled at the servant. She took the bundle, handing it to Elrond. "I made these for you," she said shyly. "It isn't much. Maltheneldor here helped me a lot, getting the leather and stuff. I just...wanted to let you know..." her voice died away, and her gaze dropped to the table. "I wanted you to have something to remember me by." (thank you)

Suddenly Elrond had trouble swallowing. A large lump of stone seemed to have formed in his throat; it refused to let anything past, scarcely allowing him to breathe. Wordlessly he opened the bundle, revealing a pair of soft moccasins, intricately hand-beaded in the colors and symbol of the House of Elrond. He stared at the lovely footwear in astonishment. Then he noticed a small design of a tiny bird, wings outstretched, set beneath his own heraldic mark.

"They are beautiful," he observed, finally getting his throat to function, hoping she would not notice the slight hoarseness. "This took...much work."

"She has labored on them many days, master," Maltheneldor said softly, and Elrond glanced at her to confirm it.

Wind nodded. "It gives me something to concentrate on, when the pain hits," she admitted.

He closed his eyes momentarily, to control himself. His heart seemed to be trapped in a crushing vise. When he could speak, he looked back at the moccasins.

"What is this?" Elrond's long graceful finger indicated the small bird he had noticed.

"That's...me," Windwalker gave answer diffidently. "I hope you...don't mind. It's symbolic. Your emblem over mine, protecting me..." Her head dipped timidly.

"No," Elrond said softly, grey eyes gentle as he gazed at her. "I do not mind in the least. It seems...appropriate."

Without hesitation, he slipped them on, noting as he did so that they fit perfectly, cradling his feet in softness. He stood, taking a few steps. "I can still feel the flagstones," he noted. "But not the cold." He nodded. "These make excellent Elven shoes."

"You like them?" Wind asked shyly, pleased, as Maltheneldor made himself scarce.

"I do."

"Good. I'm glad."

"Would you like to go for a walk, so that I may try them out?" Elrond asked, smiling and holding out his hand. "It is a beautiful day."

"That would be nice," Windwalker smiled, taking the proffered hand and joining him.


Elrond sat in his study, pondering. He could not merely bind Windwalker to himself; he needed to let her know his intentions. "I must court her," he murmured to himself. "But there is not much time. I must convince her to love me before..." He could not bring himself to finish. More and more, he found himself longing for her, sitting alone in his study, lying in his bed, aching for the very touch of her. She had fought such a long, hard battle, and she had won his heart in the doing. And now he was not certain that Valinor would any longer be haven for him without her.

"First," he considered, "she must know how I feel." But it was not Elrond's way to speak such a thing directly. He moved to his writing-desk and sat down. Picking up his pen, he began to write his thoughts.

Im dirin len
Guren bed 'lass.
Im chenin len
Guren bed loth.
Im lastan len
Guren bed lir.
Im 'erin len
Guren bed vil.

He studied his work, deciding to set it to music. It did not take him long; a little melody often flitted through his mind whenever he saw Windwalker, and he found the words fit it perfectly.

He copied the poem in his most elaborate script, on fine parchment.

Then, noting that Windwalker was on the terrace talking to her animals, he slipped from his study, down the hall, and into her bedroom. He placed the parchment on her pillow. He studied its positioning for a moment, sensing something missing. Then he made his swift way out, going to the opposite side of the house, to the flower garden. He selected a lovely alfirin blossom, plucking it and bearing it back to the bedroom wing. He peeped out of a window, ascertaining that Wind was still on the terrace, before stealing back into her room, to lay the alfirin atop the parchment. Then he returned, undiscovered, to his study, humming the song of the Windwalker.


After awhile, Windwalker wandered back into her room, feeling weary. Upon entering, however, her eye was drawn to the flower on her bed. She moved to see what it was, and found the parchment. "Oh," she said, "someone wrote me something. It's beautiful. What...does it...say...?"

She studied the Sindarin written there, able to make out a few words, but unable to completely decipher it. A light of inspiration ignited in her eyes, and, suddenly energized, she pulled out her Sindarin schoolbooks, sat at her table, and began painstakingly translating.

A scant hour later, she looked at her paper. "Oh, it's beautiful!" she whispered, reading.

I watch you
My heart says joy.
I see you
My heart says flower.
I hear you
My heart says song.
I hold you
My heart says love.

'Someone cares,' she thought, heart singing. 'Elrond was right. I'm NOT alone. But,' she wondered, 'who is it? The handwriting is so...ornate. I don't recognize it...'

Touched, she placed the flower in her bedside vase, and propped the parchment against the wall behind it, wishing for a frame to properly display it. Then she stared at it wistfully. 'I wish...' she thought. 'But he still grieves his family.'

Windwalker sighed painfully.


The next morning, Windwalker was awakened by Elven song outside the French door to the terrace. Peeking out through the curtains, she saw Elrond, already dressed, moccasins on his feet, feeding the animals and singing softly.

"...Guren bed loth.
Im lastan len
Guren bed lir..."

His deep, melodic voice carried clearly, and Windwalker's eyes widened, then glowed.