No Road Home

Part the Eighth

When she emerged from her room onto the terrace, breakfast was waiting. Elrond ceased humming, turning to her with a smile. His eyes glowed warmly.

"Mae govannen," he greeted her. (well met)

"Maer erin," she murmured in reply. (good morning)

Elrond's smile grew wider. "You have been practicing," he noted, eyes twinkling. "And IS it a good morning?"

"Yes," she smiled shyly. "It is. Very good."

"Then let us break the fast together." Elrond offered Windwalker his arm, escorting her to the breakfast table and seating her before sitting himself. As Maltheneldor appeared to serve them, Elrond asked affectionately, "What would you like to do today, muin nin?" (my dear)

"I don't know, Elrond," Wind shrugged, puzzled, as she tasted the custard presented to her, then began eating it with moderate enthusiasm.

"What would you usually be doing?" he asked, helping himself to a serving of breakfast casserole.

"Um...looking for food, or shelter, or something like that."

Elrond sighed, the smile vanishing, to be replaced with a thoughtful expression. "How long has it been since you...played?" he asked.

"Played? Like a game?"

"Yes, a game, or any other sort of play," Elrond clarified. "When were you last able to be carefree?" He watched as Windwalker tried to think, and saw the look of distress that appeared in her face. "You have never played, have you?"

"I...I don't think so. At least, I can't remember, if I have..." Windwalker's voice was soft. She glanced at Elrond, seeing a sad expression in his eyes, and suddenly she felt, somehow, ashamed. "May-maybe, when I was very little..." Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.

"Then that is what we will do today," he decreed, smiling at her encouragingly. "We will...play."

Unole's eyebrows went up in amusement, as she tried to picture the dignified Elf playing like a child. "Elrond," she chuckled, "your people will think you've gone crazy."

Elrond grinned, an almost boyish expression. "I will convince them otherwise."

"Okay, so you're gonna let 'em think I'm a bad influence on ya."

Elrond's eyebrows shot up mischievously. "You are most certainly an influence."

"Good or bad?"

"I do not believe I have said."

"And you're not going to, either, are you?" Wind accused with mock indignance.

"No." Elrond's expression was as close as an Elf ever got to smirking.

Impulsively, his mischief contagious, Windwalker picked up a fluffy white breakfast roll and energetically hefted it his way. It caught Elrond squarely between the eyes, exploding golden crumbs everywhere. Silently, he brushed the crumbs from his tunic. Then he looked up at her, grey eyes glittering silver.

"Uh-oh..." she muttered, her own eyes widening as he leaned forward slightly, a dangerous glint in his eye. She eased to the edge of her chair, and as he lunged forward, she took off with a squeal, running across the terrace and out onto the lawn. Elrond, swift as an eagle, darted around her chair and after her.

Windwalker dodged desperately, not certain if she had angered the Elven-lord or not. But her speed was no match for his long legs, and he tackled her, taking her down into the grass. "Garon cin," he muttered, grinning. "I have you."

Suddenly he sprang to his feet, darting away, calling over his shoulder, "I believe the children would say, 'You're it!'"

Windwalker let out a howl of outrage, pursuing Elrond hard, as he led her a merry chase through the well-tended shrubbery.


From the terrace, Maltheneldor watched with amusement, the noise of his master's shouts and Windwalker's shrieks drawing the other servants onto the terrace as well.

"What in Eru's name are they doing?" one asked Maltheneldor in astonishment.

"The master is teaching Windwalker how to play," he informed the other servant.

"She has never...?"

"No. Not even as a child, evidently. Her life has indeed been hard."

"Master Elrond is Wise," noted Glorfindel, who, by choice, still functioned as Seneschal of Elrond's House. "Perhaps, were the woman taught how to play long ere this, her bowels would not now be wasting away."

"Perhaps," Maltheneldor agreed.

"Come, let us go back to our duties," Glorfindel announced. "The Lord Elrond has matters well in hand. Perchance he may even be able to heal her, that she may remain in his House."


Elrond hid behind a tall hedge, listening carefully, a smile writ large on his lips. Silently, he stepped to the end of the hedge, prepared to sprint to the next hiding place. He glanced around, saw no one, and darted from cover. Suddenly something landed heavily on his back, and he went down on the green lawn in a tangle of arms and legs.

"Gotcha!" Windwalker crowed, as they attempted to untangle themselves. Their breathless laughter echoed back from the walls of the Calacirya.

"Where...where were you?" Elrond panted between chortles.

Wind's dark eyes twinkled merrily. "You didn't look up!"

"You were on TOP of the hedge?!"

"Yeah!"

Elrond lay on the grass and laughed, loud and long. "You, meleth nin, are a scamp, and no mistake," he informed her. "Your instincts are excellent. I have not been ambushed so totally in many a long year." He hugged her tightly, and she pressed close, hugging him back happily. Desire flared in him then, and he gazed up at her, a light shining in his silver eyes. She stared down into the silver glow, transfixed. "Im 'erin len," he whispered, "guren bed --" (my love; I hold you, my heart says --)

"Master Elrond," Maltheneldor's voice called, breaking the spell, "there is cool water on the terrace, if you desire to refresh yourselves."

"That sounds good," Unole grinned.

"Agreed," Elrond chuckled, and they stood, brushing bits of grass from their clothing.

"Ooo," Wind noted, "my jeans aren't so blue anymore."

"More like green," Elrond agreed, as they ambled toward the terrace.

"I wouldn't talk," Wind retorted, "you've got a big grass stain on the back of your tunic."

"I do?" Elrond twisted, trying to look over his shoulder. "Where?"

"Um...right on...er," Wind began to blush.

"Ah," Elrond answered with a slight smirk, catching her meaning. "That would be where you barreled into me earlier. Fortunately the lawn is soft, or I would probably require a cushion in my chair," he chuckled. "I had no idea you could generate such force. You are not over-large."

"Yeah, but it's how you use it," Windwalker chuckled in turn. "I spent a year living just outside a kung fu studio..."


That afternoon, Elrond was forcibly reminded of just how frail his beloved Windwalker was. Maltheneldor came swiftly to get him shortly after lunch. "It is Windwalker, my lord," the servant murmured, his tone urgent. "She needs you."

Fear gripped Elrond's heart as he followed the manservant to Wind's room. There, he found her sprawled across her bed, weak, scarcely able to move. Their very physical game of tag had exhausted her reserves. He turned to Maltheneldor. "Bring me an infusion of athelas," he ordered softly. The manservant bowed and exited in haste.

He returned quickly with a delicate porcelain cup of the hot infusion. Elrond slipped his arms behind Windwalker and helped her sit up, leaning her back against the pillows. Then he took the herbal tea, murmuring some words in Sindarin over it, and put it to her lips. "Drink, meleth nin," he said softly. (my love)

Windwalker placed her hands over Elrond's to guide him, then slowly drank the medicinal.

When the cup was empty, Elrond handed it to Maltheneldor, then put out his hand and smoothed Wind's hair off her brow. She lay quietly, content to merely look at him in silence as her strength returned slowly.

"Are you better now?" he asked after a few moments.

"Yes."

"We should not have played so hard," he sighed, pained.

"No, Elrond," she said, impulsively covering his hand with her own. "I wouldn't have missed that for the world. It was the most fun I've ever had."

Maltheneldor withdrew quietly.

Elrond glanced around the room absently, noting the blossom on her night table, the parchment behind it. "Someone left you a gift," he noted casually.

"Yes," she answered, watching him knowingly. "Someone...very special, I think."

"Do you?" Elrond glanced at her sharply.

"Yes," she replied.

"Can you read it?"

"It took some time with my books, but yes, I can read it."

He stood, moving nonchalantly to the side table, taking the parchment and studying it as if he had never seen it before. "I shall see that you have a frame, so that you may properly display it. Do you know who wrote it?"

"I think so," she told him. "He has a lovely singing voice."

Their eyes met meaningfully.

"Rest now," Elrond told her then. "I will come for you when dinner is ready."

He slipped out, leaving her to nap contentedly.


Elrond sat alone in his study, in agony. He had recognized Windwalker's condition as soon as he had entered her bedroom: She was waning swiftly, too swiftly. She did not have much longer. If a bonding were to be attempted, it would have to be soon, very soon; likely within the next day or so. Her physical state did not allow him the luxury of a courtship that extended further. Perhaps, a great perhaps, she would allow the bonding, based on the affection he perceived she held for him, in order to save her life. Then he could court her afterward, with the intent to create love in her. It was backward, he thought, and not how he would have preferred it. But it was the best that could be managed.

Elrond made his decision and stood, going in search of Maltheneldor, to consult about matters of a suitable dinner for Windwalker.


Elrond was courteous, indeed courtly, to Windwalker all through dinner. It was a delightful affair, full of all the dainties that Elrond and Maltheneldor had noticed were her favorites, and Elrond encouraged her to eat well, to restore her strength. Wind noticed, too, how Elrond's glowing eyes fell on her warmly and often, seeming to find pleasure in doing so, and she blushed delicately, which seemed to please him all the more.

After dinner, they conversed for awhile before a message arrived for Elrond, and he excused himself temporarily to take a caller.

Wind retired to her room, wondering what this fluttery feeling in her chest was, and why it seemed to strengthen when Elrond looked at her. She caught a glance of herself in the mirror, and scowled. "I look dreadful," she muttered. "My clothes are ratty and all green."

Suddenly, it seemed terribly important that she look as pretty as possible. She stripped off her ragged jeans and shirt, tossing them aside, and poured herself water for a bath. There were scented oils by the bath basin, but heretofore she had been too shy to make use of them. Now, curiously, she sniffed each one, picking her favorite, then adding just a few drops to her bath water. Stepping in, she bathed herself, scrubbing away the grass stains on her skin, and undoing her braid to wash her long black hair.

When she was clean, she stepped out, drying herself. She picked up a brush and, working the tangles out of her hair, brushed it until it was dry.

Then she stepped over to the wardrobe, looking into it. 'I don't want to put those old jeans back on,' she thought sadly. Her eyes lit on the tunic and robe one of the household servants had gifted her, and sparkled happily.