Home's Tale by Haeron

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Chapter 13

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I fell into Celebrían’s arms as soon as she opened her front door to me.

 

I fell to pieces and she caught and cradled me, shooshing and soothing me and masked, as best she could, her sudden panic at having a grown elf weep upon her shoulder.

 

On her doorstep we stayed for a time, it was a fair autumn afternoon and quite fair weather -- even for crying. Celebrían slowly guessed the nature of my upset, I am sure, and I realised my mistake! For the duration of the slow journey up to their little cottage besides the river I had kept myself focused on nothing besides my ultimate destination or the placement of one foot in front of the other. I refused to think of Glorfindel in any capacity, especially rejecting the memory of our final night together. I cursed myself once, twice and thrice as she held me and rocked me, the gift of a mother, and knew that without Glorfindel I was not Erestor.

 

I was not myself, it was simple. I realised it only then when I was so very far away from him in more than just miles and yards. Celebrían called for Elrond and after expressing his initial shock he brought me into their house, again, where the curtains were open and the flowers seemed to twinkled into the open windows from their painted window boxes.

 

The wind chime that I had bought them for an anniversary a long time ago was tinkling somewhere and the gentle music of it soothed my frayed nerves somehow. It was a familiar sound that reminded me of home, wherever that was.

 

He is in New Gondolin and hurting for you.

 

The thought was the first rational one I had had in a long time.

 

Elrond and Celebrían swapped many furtive looks between themselves, but let me sit with a hot cup of tea and listen to the birdsong for a while before wresting my story from me. I told them much in the same way I have told you; candidly and with a great amount of shame. They listened but I could not meet their eyes, not even Celebrían who listened intently and with sorrow mingled with sweet confusion. Elrond was plainly agitated, and I feared his reprisal though I could not deny I had earned it.

 

They both asked me why I could not have stayed with Glorfindel, why I had felt the need to walk out on him and I had no answer for them just as I had had none for him, but they already knew. I saw it in one of their exchanged glances; they knew better than I myself, most likely! But I had not the heart to ask them or engage in more weighty conversation, I brought the tea to my lips and tuned in to the wind chime. Celebrían stroked my back and whispered something to her husband, and my spirits were flattened so that I did not even eavesdrop!

 

‘Erestor, you may stay with us for as long as you need,’ Elrond said, and I looked to him with weary eyes.

 

‘May I?’

 

‘Of course you may, old friend,’ he said, as though it were a most obvious thing. However, then he cupped my chin in his hand and we looked at one another quite intently. I rather got the impression I was being examined but one gets used to such sensations being Elrond’s good friend and advisor. ‘But, I am going to write to New Gondolin immediately. The letter will be for Glorfindel and Glorfindel only, do you understand? I am calling him here.’

 

I didn’t really understand but I nodded anyway to save myself more lectures. The idea of Glorfindel being summoned so soon set a new dread in my stomach, I did not believe I was ready to see him yet after all the hurts I had dealt him but ah, if it was to be done then I deemed it better he come here rather than the alternate arrangement. Elrond sensed my acquiescence and released my face. I stroked my jaw experimentally, and lowered my eyes from his.

 

‘What has happened to you, Erestor? What happened there that caused you to come to us in such a way?’ Elrond asked, kinder now and my heart was glad. He sat beside me and let me rest my head on his shoulder.

 

‘I have done a terrible thing,’ said I.

 

‘As have we all, Erestor. But terrible things can be forgiven so long as you are contrite and willing.’ Elrond replied, and he brushed the tears from my cheeks just as I had once brushed away his daughter’s.

 

***

 

I spent a quiet week waiting for Glorfindel’s arrival and most of it I spent tending the gardens with Celebrían in profound peace and quiet. She set me on “watering” duty seeing as I was not yet quite adept enough to re-pot the delicate flowers to larger terracotta homes, but I completely did not mind wandering the vast garden, watering can in hand, and showering the young bushes and roses with cool water. When the water ran out, I would return to Celebrían and watch her re-home the young flowers with a careful, caring hand.

 

They reminded me of Glorfindel, the flowers, as you might expect. They were pale and small and quite beautifully dotted about the verdant lawn. I thought of him whenever she brushed the soft petals to test their health. I thought of his kisses, of every touch we had ever shared and the smile that never seemed absent from his face; once.

 

Celebrían would often ask me what I was thinking about when she caught me drifting away into happy memories and we’d share gentle smiles upon my admission. ‘You’re healing,’ she would tell me, matter-of-factly, and I believe I was. There was no roiling and boiling disgust and despair churning my gut, but there was an odd tranquillity merged with slight anxious anticipation instead -- much more preferable, if you ask me.

 

And with this feeling I would sit in the grass besides her and we’d dig up the weeds that threatened to choke the young plants, I sensed there was a moral story to the task but Celebrían would only smile and tilt her silver head whenever I asked. Truly, she was the mother of Elladan and Elrohir!

 

I spent ample time with Elrond, too, in his new study decorated in all the ways he had once dreamed aloud to me in Imladris, covering his eyes with his hands and leaning back in the high chair of council. The chairs here were softer and dark leather, and the desk was a handsome, dark mahogany thing. One felt as though they should be swishing whiskey around a lowball glass to sit with him there, but he forbade me alcohol of any sort. ‘Just until you work things out,’ he’d say with a smirk.

 

We spoke of more serious things, too, of how many elves shared a deep bond of friendship such as the one he and I shared. Of course, I understood what he was attempting to tell me and I smiled but did not care to think any more deeply about the issue, my stubbornness would not be shaken off so easily. But the lesson was well warranted and Elrond persisted, and rightly so, until I admitted internally that it did make sense, and so I did begin to understand these things that should always have been understood.

 

It was a blessed week and part of me wished for it never to end for it provided me with all the comforts I had so dearly missed from Imladris, but I knew I must be reunited with my soul and together forge our new future. Every evening I spent watching Elrond and Celebrían dance in hold about the kitchen as the meat cooked in the pan was a reminder of my own lost love, love that I was ready to feel again.

 

It took me by surprise, but my heart ached for him. For Glorfindel. Elrond had victoriously kissed Celebrían on the cheek when I had told them so, and they had beamed at me together like proud parents. I could not help it -- I smiled back.

 

The day Celebrían came running into the study, letter in hand, some of the old fear clawed at me again. Elrond and I looked up to our silver lady with matching expressions. There was no question as to where the letter had come from, and Elrond took it as it was offered wordlessly to him and opened it and read it all very severely and silently. One might have been able to hear a pin drop onto the polished parquet floor. He did not hand it over to me to read when he was finished, instead he folded it back up and put it back inside the white envelope, neatly.

 

He inhaled and it was a such breath as seemed to steal all the air from the study.

 

‘It’s his reply,’ Elrond said, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards ever so slightly. ‘He’s on his way.’