Not Wholly Fruitless by maeglin

Doriath, YoS 506

The Feanorian ambassador offered friendship.  He offered aid in strengthening Menegroth.  If Doriath needed gold to help the widows and orphans made by the recent treachery of the Naugrim, Maedhros would give whatever was required.  Gold and other coin, the Feanorians had in plenty, even after the Nirnaeth.  Caranthir's treasury in Ossiriand still stood.

The Thousand Caves would be better defended if the Sindar had two thousand of the finest swords in Beleriand.  And, if the Sindar could find it in their hearts to forgive the horror of Alqualondë and renounce Thingol's declaration of enmity, each sword would come with a battle-hardened swordsman to wield it.  Many of the ambassador's people wished a more settled existence, and it was pointed out that with Melian gone, Doriath was likely to need swordsmen.  Morgoth would not leave them be for much longer. 

And all, all the sons of Feänor asked in return, was the Silmaril.  The ambassador argued patiently but insistently.  The jewel was, after all, rightfully an heirloom of the House of Finwë, not that of Elwë.  Did the Feanorians hold aught that belonged to the Sindar?  The actions of Celegorm and Curufin were greatly regretted, and a letter of apology from the brothers was produced.  Everyone had gone a little mad, or more than a little, after Dagor Bragollach, they explained.

Dior listened to the arguments calmly, speaking only briefly to reject everything offered.  The Silmaril, set in the Nauglamir, seemed to shine especially brightly. Finally, he wearied of the embassy and of his counsellors' craven advice.  He rose from his throne and strode forward to stand eye to eye with the Noldo, who apparently had wax in his ears.

"We want nothing that you hold in your bloody hands, kinslayer."

Erestor flushed.  "Since you so name me, I will say that you should carefully consider the implications of your words.  For it is your lives we hold in our hands."

Dior replied quietly and evenly, with measured disdain.  "How arrogant, how typical of your people, to think so.  But you are not as mighty as you believe.  If you enter Doriath armed, a power greater than yours will strike down every one of your bloodyhanded warriors.  Not one will be left.  You are warned."

The eyes two handspans from Erestor's face were radiant with confidence, and no little power.  In them could be seen Melian and Luthien, Beren and Thingol.  But they belonged to a boy who acted his age.  Tall and well-formed, but a boy nonetheless.  Why did the regents not correct him?  Could Dior be King of the Sindar in fact and not just in name?  Confusion turned to sickening horror with the realization that there were no regents!  Witless Moriquendi!

Only one gambit was left. 

"You are brave, Lord, and I do not doubt that you would lay down your life to protect your people, and that which your parents wrested from the Iron Crown.  But - " he gestured at the Sinda counsellors, "would you lay down their lives to protect only the latter?  And also those of the less mighty among your people?  Will you make the choice of Olwë?"

Dior turned his back on the arrogant fool.  The Kinslayers would not listen even to the bluntest of warnings, and could no longer hear the Song.  He pitied them.  For Thingol's heir knew, as certainly as he knew that water flowed downhill, that the sons of Feänor would never regain the Silmaril of Doriath.  And he knew that he had naught to fear.

Chapter End Notes

Dior was only 36 years old when he died.

Imladris: S.A. 1989

Erestor chuckled softly.  "I have never seen him this drunk.  Not even when he and Elros were thirty, and got into Maglor's wine.  That earned the both of them a good lashing."

Glorfindel grimaced.  "He deserves another one."

"Indeed.  Let us hope that tonight will be forgotten."

Above them, the night sky was clear and full of stars, so Glorfindel prayed earnestly (as only a half-Vanya can) that the Mariner was not looking down upon the three of them.  But suddenly the warrior knew, in his innermost heart, that such a hope was vain.

"I fear, mellon nin, it will not be.  Ever."

And once again the wobbly refrain echoed: "Oh!  Tra-la-la-lally…"

Imladris, T.A. 2

 "You know very well that Elrond has always preferred to be the power behind the throne.” 

Glorfindel, exasperated, nearly shouted. "How can he be the power behind the throne when no one sits it?  Who could possibly think that Elrond is anything less than our rightful King?  And who could think that the King should be anyone but him?"

Erestor scowled.  "Who, indeed?  Galadriel, for one, but she cannot very well challenge his claim if he does not make it." 

He then paused, waiting for the workings of his friend's mind to take their course, before adding "Indeed he renounces even the title Lord.  Now, why might he do that, do you think?"

The warrior stared determinedly out Erestor's window, at some half-grown youths playing a game of chess.  Well he knew of Elrond's childhood, growing up in the care of the last sons of Fëanaro.  Maitimo had ceded the High Kingship to Nolo because…

Then he laughed loudly.  "He intends to be the power behind his own chair!  Our King shall rule the Noldor in the guise of the wise, kindly, and vaguely sorrowful Master of Imladris."

Erestor then broke into a grin the likes of which had not been seen in the valley for several yeni.  "Brilliant, is it not?  Devious, cunning and above all, confusing.  If Galadriel ever figures it out - and I doubt she will - it will be only after it is far too late to challenge him.  Good!  Only the Valar know why she thinks we would ever follow her, of all people, but clearly she does.  It seems her band of Silvan sychophants has addled her mind.  Pity, that." 

Such an attitude made Glorfindel rather sad, no matter that he could in no wise condemn it.  His fair cousin had once been the brightest jewel of the House of Finwë.  But Artanis of Tirion was long lost.  Only Galadriel remained.

Chapter End Notes

yeni is the plural of yen, the Quenya word for the Elven "long count" time unit, 144 years.

Imladris, T.A. 2260

Word spread quickly through the Last Homely House that visitors from Eryn Galen had arrived.  This was not unusual, to be sure (though less usual than all would have liked), but these were not merely the usual traders or messengers, for among their number was their younger prince.  This was his first visit.

Lindir escorted the young prince down the hall, to the last door.  The one on the right, not yet Elrond’s, which was the one on the left.  He then knocked twice. 

A tall, bright-eyed Noldo opened the heavy door.

Lindir greeted the Elf formally, with a slight bow.  “Counsellor Erestor, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eryn Galen.”  

Said Elf replied only “Thank you, Lindir.  That will be all.”  

He turned to his noble guest, and gestured formally to the waiting chairs.  “Prince Legolas, welcome to Imladris.  Please come in.  Do you take coffee?  A Mannish drink from Harad, but I have come to enjoy it.”

Legolas bowed, entered, and answered, equally formally.  “Thank you, my lord.  I think I will.”

His host then sat in a rather excessively (to Legolas’ opinion) ornately carved chair, and waited as the prince refreshed himself. 

And then said — “I am not a lord of anything, any more.  Unfortunately.”

If Elves ever stammered, Legolas most certainly would have.  After some consideration of how to reply, and how best to address his host - “My condolences” did not seem appropriate, and “my former lord” was plainly ridiculous, he went with the safe option and merely said “Ah.”

His host nodded, seemingly satisfied.  A shrug of the elegantly cloaked shoulders seemed to dismiss the issue.  But then —

“And I am certainly not your lord.”

The young Prince simply did not know what to do.  Though undeniably true, was such a reply not exceedingly rude?  He thought so, but then again, he had been told many times that one could never tell with these old Noldor…

Erestor laughed aloud.  “I am sorry, but the look on your face is priceless!  Forgive me — Lindir and I do enjoy having a little fun with our Silvan guests.  And in the fine Silvan tradition — which I admire greatly — we do not make exceptions for royalty.”

The Exile (who was, in point of fact, very much still a lord, though only a de jure one - the issue was, truth be told, rather complicated and had, in the late Second Age, been a source of serious contention within the valley, mostly between Elrond and Erestor's wife, who was herself a lady of very high birth, though not of a lineage that was suitable to discuss with this particular guest) nodded to the Prince, with a slight tip of his cup, in clear salute.  And knew that this latest generation of the House of Oropher would be far easier to deal with than the first had been.

Chapter End Notes

Erestor's wife (in my "universe") is Hithriel, the extracanonical (but not anticanonical) daughter of Curufin / sister of Celebrimbor.  This is not something it would be wise to flaunt when Oropher's grandson is in one's office :)

2512 T. A., Imladris

Elladan and Elrohir rode stealthily up Rivendell's eastern slopes. But they were not stealthy enough.  Two horses approached at a gallop. Elves did not take such revenge, even on Orcs, they had been told.  Stay within the valley, they had been ordered.

Thoughts of consequences approched even faster.  Glorfindel was a stern Captain.  For this insubordination, they could expect formal censure, at the very least.  But to their surprise, the horsemen were not Glorfindel or Inglor, let alone their Adar.  Instead, they were Erestor and Tanamir.

The counsellor bore arms that he nearly always kept locked away: striking black plate armor emblazoned with the Star of Feänor, and Imladris' sharpest sword, forged and long borne by Curufin.

Tanamir, Erestor's heart-son, was similarly arrayed for battle, but as always, the Master of the Mirdain carried twin one-handed swords of his own design.

The Noldor also wore expressions as dark as the starless night.

"You are not here to lecture us."  Elladan said gravely.

"No.  Our goal is the same as yours."  Erestor replied.  "Yet when we hunt Orc, we do not bear the devices of Imladris. For us, this is a private family matter.  I may honor my children and Tanamir his wife in the way we see fit.  Were it only a private family matter for you, equally you might honor your mother.  But as your Lord Father has forbidden you any further vengeance, continuing it while arrayed as you are is nigh unto treason."

"More so than openly wearing those?" Elrohir questioned, with a sharp glance at his interlocutors' arms.

Tanamir replied calmly.  "Has Elrond not forbidden you these missions of reprisal both as your Lord and as your father?  He has not forbidden them to us in either capacity."

"Then he approves of your own revenge upon the Orcs, but not ours?"  Elrohir asked incredulously.

Erestor shook his head, refusing the question.  "As I said, ours is a private family matter.  However, if you will hunt with us, I counsel you to leave anything which identifies you as Imladrim here in the valley, where you may find it again.  Staining the emblems of your Lord with blood shed against his orders is a violation of the law. And you may remove all such items without disarming yourselves.  Now, shall we remain here arguing, or go forth?"

Somehow removing the emblems of their lifelong home seemed a step too far, even when disobeying their father-Lord and Captain did not.  The Peredhil wavered but a moment before turning back towards the Last Homely House, riding away without another word.

"Well done, Atto."  Tanamir whispered with a rueful smile.  Elrond had ordered all his senior captains and counsellors to help heal his sons of this 'affliction', and it seemed the twins would now find their own way to healing, as most in the valley would deem it.

"I hoped that would work," Erestor replied, "though I would have been glad of their companionship.  The path they just chose is the nobler, at least in the manner of Arafinwë, but I fear it will avail Imladris little."

For a moment, the counsellor stared blankly into the night. Ever since the death of his son Etarnó in the Nirnaeth, and even more since that of his daughter in the sack of Eregion, he had been taking private revenge on the Orcs. The foul creatures were multiplying again in the mountains, and now there was one more kinswoman to avenge.  It was true that his revenge did not bring his children back.  But, it was also true that it took the Orcs' children away.  And no one in Imladris would complain that there were too few enemies about.

"From now on, every Orc we slay shall hear the name of Celebrian as well as those of Nierië and Etarnó."

The Smith simply nodded as the two rode out of the valley and the hunting trip began.  His wife Nierië, Erestor's daughter, had suffered outrages even worse then those inflicted on Celebrian before her feä had fled to Namo's Halls - and her hröa had been further marred even after!  Never would he forget that sight, as long as he lived, and never would the Orcs be free from his vengeance.

Chapter End Notes

"The elves were the first to charge. Their hatred for the goblins is cold and bitter." -- The Hobbit

Here Celebrian is Hithriel's second cousin (through Finwë), making Celebrian Erestor's "kinswoman".

Lothlorien, T. A. 2662

Yet another meeting of the White Council had concluded.  As hosts, Celeborn and Galadriel stood while the other members filed out.  The trailing two, however, exchanged a nod at the doorway of the Hall of Welcome, and turned back.

 The elder spoke first.  "Now would be a good time to discuss the other matter, would it not?"

 Heads nodded and the four Elves retook their seats at the great table.  Cirdan, recognizing the dangers of haste, spoke slowly and carefully.

 "The uses of a Great Ring, we are all familiar with, though from different viewpoints.  Erestor will speak on this matter, but know that in this case, his council and mine are the same."    

 The counsellor thought of his long-ago youth as a scribe and messenger serving Finwë’s court, and of Finwë himself, before beginning.  

"Do you remember the arguments in the King's court, shortly preceding the great rupture, Lady?" 

"How could I forget them?  They come oft unbidden and unwelcome to my mind - a foreboding of what was to be."

"Yes, and so they come to me as well.  But I also remember how Finwë held us together until the day he died.  It was not an easy thing to give unwelcome council, especially when those to which the council was given were themselves mighty lords, and not always well-disposed towards him.  Yet Finwë always managed to bring it off, and would have succeeded even if he were not our King." 

Celeborn pointed out drily, "I doubt me that being King was too much of a hindrance.  But Elu was the same, until his last years.  Proceed with your council, unwelcome though it may be.  Though I would ask why you speak here before Cirdan."  He then turned to the elder, but Cirdan merely shook his head.  

Erestor continued.  "We speak of the Three, and I knew the mind of their maker better than any other here.  Cirdan could say the things I will say - but he has already told you that our councils are alike."  He looked to each of the three in turn; all far greater than himself, though only one like to his long-dead friend and heart-brother.  

"Say on, then, friend."  Galadriel interjected.

"The Three were made, in part, as tools of healing and preservation, and Celebrimbor reasoned that the greatest wounds to be healed were those dividing the Quendi amongst themselves and from the Atani.  For this reason he gave the Three to you, Lady, to Gil-galad, and to Cirdan.  The mightiest Elf in Ennor, the greatest, and the wisest, in that order." 

Celeborn maintained his composure with some effort.  Never had Celebrimbor admitted this, though he himself had long suspected something of the kind - and the tales of commoners regarding Celebrimbor's reasons were quite outlandish!  But his laughter died rapidly against the hard reflection of how much pain Nenya had caused his wife over the long-years. 

But Galadriel laughed aloud, a quicksilver sound.  "Tyelpo did not put it quite that way when he gave it to me, but I do not dispute your claim.  I have tried to put his gift to good use.  All Elves of good will are welcome in Lothlorien, Elda and Avar alike.  What, then, have you to say, Erestor?"

"That you, Lady, have shown your greatness, even over and above Gil-galad, in extending such welcome.  But it needed no Ring to do so."

Galadriel now turned sharply.  "And you will say next that I was given it for my might, and that I have ill-used."

Erestor nodded. 

Galadriel continued.  "With swift arguments you would say that Celebrimbor intended the Three to be used to heal all Ennor, not concentrated in a few sheltered strongholds. That we should not seek to recreate Valinor here.  That a fair realm of Men springs up upon our south-border, that it is our choice to help them and teach them as my own brothers did long ago in Beleriand, or to let them fare as best they can on their own.  That, clearly, the first course is best." 

Erestor nodded again.  "And you would say that my own Lord has chosen a middle course, and helps Men less than he might.  And would think, but not say, that that is putting things charitably.  And I, I would agree with you fully.  Yet Elrond sees things that I cannot.  But, since we are now putting words one another's lips and thoughts in one another's minds, perhaps we should let others speak?"

Celeborn took up this offer instantly, speaking softly but in a manner that left no room for doubt.   “If you disapprove of Lorien's policies, it is to me that you should speak."

Cirdan, too, broke his silence.  "No one questions that, Celeborn.  Nor do any here seek to usurp your authority - not this time."  The ancient one glared briefly at Erestor, cursing the folly of the Eregion rebellion the latter had helped lead, before continuing.  "And I know your reasons, the whys and wherefores.  Yet you two cannot be Thingol and Melian.  I, the eldest here, say that your policies, Celeborn, do not fit our times."   

"War will come, and who will win?  Not the Elves, if we do not have as many Men as possible on our side.  That many will be on the Enemy's side is inevitable.  Thus our task is to keep our allies, and to win new ones, even if we like them not.  This one truth has never changed, and never will.  Distasteful though it is, it is.  That is why I welcomed the Feanorians even though Ossë had told me of Alqualonde.  A bitter pill it was, yet not so bitter as death or thralldom at the hands of Morgoth’s servants." 

"Thingol would not or could not follow my council at that time, and I do not blame him.  But here and now, you are presented with a fair people upon your South-border.  I have been among them.  Though they are not of the Dunedain, they have proven their worth as thoroughly as any of that people.  The sons of Eorl could be mighty allies to us in the days to come.   We need only reach out to them." 

Celeborn shook his head.  "They fear us greatly.  Several of the Galadhrim, journeying alone or in pairs outside our borders, they have shot dead.  I do not know the source of their fear.  They came from the North, and doubtless some shadow followed them here, either of the Enemy or simply of the past."   

He allowed himself a sad smile.  "Not knowing, I have restrained our people from any reprisals.  But how are we to make them our allies when they would sooner shoot us than speak to us?  At present, we cannot even break bread together, much less make alliance.  In any case, the role I think you envision us playing, Cirdan, is already being played by the Men of Gondor.  We hope that Gondor will teach them to unlearn their fear.  Until that day comes, we can do little to aid them."

Cirdan nodded.  The Rohirrim had not feared him greatly, because upon seeing his beard, all had thought him one of the Istari.  He had not troubled to correct this error, but now realized he should have.   

So, with contrition he replied.  "That is ill news.  If Gondor teaches them thus, your restraint will be rewarded, but if it does not, nothing will change.  Yet in Gondor, and particularly its coastlands, we can still ask boons of the lords and captains.  I will go there myself, to ask the coastal princes to ask the Steward to send loremasters north to Rohan.  Or better yet, minstrels - they are not a lettered people, and may not mix well with the learned among the Dunedain."  

Cirdan paused, considering.  "It is too long since I have visited the Falas of the South.  Will you go with me, old friend?"

Celeborn's look of pain was rebuke enough.  "The Falas hold dark memories for me, all too near.  Amroth is at least held in esteem there, it is said, but as the son of Amdir, not of Celeborn and Galadriel.  And I have heard that Mithrellas left the first Lord of Dol Amroth, the descendants of whom are the mightiest of the southern princes, alone to wither in old age.  That was shameful.  She was of my people - so, besides the personal sorrow which would surely weigh heavily upon me to the ruin of any such visit, I cannot be sure the Men there would not hold me in scorn.  Though it would not be without some justice, that would be too much for my patience, I am afraid.  And truly, I do not think you need any Elf of this Wood in your company, Cirdan.  I would be  redundant, I deem.  If the Dunedain have forgotten the Shipwright, it is already too late."

Erestor broke his silence.  "I will go with you, if you wish it, Lord.  It is not so long since I have been to Gondor.  Ciryon I knew and admired.  And the Falas of Gondor hold no shadows for me." 

"Would Glorfindel not make a better messenger?" Celeborn interjected.

Erestor shook his head sadly.  "He would, but he will not be given leave to go, and so he will not go.  Also, Elrond holds the Stewards in scorn.  His stated reasons are strange.  Perhaps he sees something that I cannot, but he does not say what it may be."

"He will give you leave to go, but not Glorfindel?"  Celeborn again interrupted.  "Or.."

The dark eyes flashed.  "Elrond has my allegiance, always.  But I am foremost amongst his counsellors precisely because I need not and have never shied from privately or even openly disagreeing with him.  I have shown enough loyalty to retain my position these past thirty ennin.  Have you none such among your own people, Lord?" 

Celeborn half-smiled, ruefully.  "I had several, but they have all either fallen in battle or removed to Mirkwood.  They would rather face Orcs and spiders than my wrath, it seems.  So be it.  But I guess, at the least, you will not go as a messenger of Imladris?  Elrond has not spoken to me of his distrust of the Stewards.  That is unfortunate, for I do not know what he may foresee."   

He turned.  "Do you, beloved?"

Galadriel stared intensely at nothing for nearly a minute.  Finally, "All in Gondor is dark to me, and I dare not concentrate too closely on Minas Tirith."  

Erestor replied, "Indeed I would not be going as a messenger of Imladris, or even tell them whence I came.  I shall go as - " he paused, turning his gaze from Celeborn to Galadriel to say the words - "one well known to the maker of the Palantiri.  That shall be title enough for the Steward, I think."

Cirdan nodded, and the meeting concluded.  The two visitors departed. 

oOo 

Galadriel sank into her chair, suddenly weary. 

Celeborn placed his hand upon her knee. "Do not mind him, beloved.  You have done the best you could, and we have walked our hard path according to such wisdom as we have.  What more could anyone ask?"  

"The followers of Fëanaro could ask more.   One just did, did you not hear?  War and hatred undying they promised Morgoth and all who served him, and they still hold to that part of the Oath." she replied.  "While bold strokes may yet avail, however small the chance of success, no other course will they consider.  If the Doom of Mandos is never to be lifted, that is wisdom."

Celeborn coughed.  Such bloodymindedness was hardly a virtue.  If anyone had shown worth, it was Cirdan.  "I do not think so, beloved.  But it is they who need pardon, not you, so do not place yourself in their position.  If the Valar will forever hold those who crossed the Grinding Ice as being - as guilty as those who burned the ships - then I say that this Wood is better than Valinor, with or without Celebrimbor's trinket.  Lorien is what it is today because of your labor and sacrifice, and mine, and those of our people, not because of anything the Ring alone can do.  If it were to lose its power tomorrow, not one Elf in this Wood would think less of their Lady."  

Galadriel wished very much that that were true, but loved her husband all the more for not only saying it but believing it.  And for perhaps even being right in some way that even she could not see.

As for Celeborn, he wished that Nenya would indeed lose its power tomorrow.  For, apart from the strain the Ring placed on his beloved, Cirdan's words concerning the Rohirrim were wise.  But how could Men do aught but fear a land free of stain, decay, or even, for the love of Manwë’s bollocks, snow in wintertime?  He feared it himself sometimes, and felt right to do so.  Caras Galadhon they dwelt on, but Galadhon, were he to return as Luthien had, would not recognize his own hill, now held by his own son!  Thus Celeborn knew Cirdan's proposed mission was impossible as asking the Sun not to rise, and a waste of time.  But there was no point in telling the Shipwright that.

Chapter End Notes

The idea of Erestor as a lord of Eregion and supporter of Celebrimbor comes from Marnie's wonderful story “Dancing in the Darkness”.

2938 T. A., Imladris

Erestor recited. "Tall ships and tall kings, three times three.  What brought they from the foundered land, over the flowing sea?  Seven stars and seven stones, and one white tree."

This rhyme was memorized by children from Rivendell to Dol Amroth, at least those who had chosen their parents well.  The counsellor waited expectantly as the fosterling repeated the words.

"But that's nine kings and only seven stars and stones!  What happened to the other two?"

The Elf smiled - the boy showed promise. "Perhaps, Estel, seven stars and seven stones were all they possessed.  Even Kings must share some things among themselves."

"Oh.  Like Anarion and Isildur shared Gondor?"

"Yes, more or less.  One kingdom, two kings.  They did quite well, for a while.  I knew them both, you know.  One day I will tell you of them."

"Tell me now!"

"You are not quite ready, Estel.  Soon enough.  But for now, know that they were brothers, loyal both to each other and to their father Elendil, the High King.  Both did many great deeds."

"Brothers?  I guess that would make it easier to share.  I wish I had a brother."   The boy looked down sadly for a moment.  "I mean, I have Elladan and Elrohir, but they're so old!  I wish I had a younger brother."

Erestor at first held back a laugh at hearing the twins described as "old".  But then it occurred to him that the brothers Elrondion were no longer young by any standard.  Nearly twenty yeni had passed since their begetting.  That he still thought of them as little more than children made him feel very old, for a moment.  How time had flown...

"I too, wish you had a younger brother, Estel, but it is not to be.  However, as you grow up, you may find Men you account as your brothers, and that is almost as good.  In my youth, I had only a sister, but my best friend was as close to me as any brother could be. And here in Imladris, I account Glorfindel a brother.  Though we argue over which one of us is the elder!"  I do hope you find such friends, young one.

Suddenly Erestor knew he would one day tell this mortal child the true tale of the seven stars and stones.  Why seven for nine kings, indeed?  Because, of course, only seven had been made.  For another set of brothers who had braved many perils, and been loyal to one another as they were to their father.

But he would not tell the boy that tale any time soon.  Not until Aragorn had grown, seen battle, and borne the hardship the Elf sensed was his doom to bear.  Perhaps not even before the boy was old and grey.

Chapter End Notes

The "Tall ships and tall kings.." poem, is, of course, directly taken from TTT.  The arguments over whether Erestor or Glorfindel was 'elder' would depend on whether G's time in Mandos was counted; here, E was born about 200 years before the destruction of the Two Trees, and G (in his first life) about 200 years before E.

T. A. 3003, Imladris

"Ah-choo!"

Bilbo reflected that old age had indeed caught up to him. He had caught a cold after a wintry day's walk, but unlike all those that had troubled him the past sixty years, this one had not gone away with rest, instead deepening into the flu. Yet though the grave might be ready for him, even now he was not ready for it, and in Rivendell even the flu had its compensations. The healer, apparently a high personage, was not quite as beautiful as the Lady Arwen, but that observation was rather like complaining that a star was not as bright as the Sun.

"Forgive me, Lady, but I cannot remember your name." Bilbo croaked. "I do remember meeting you on my last visit here, but only briefly, and sixty years is a long time for my kind."

The Lady, inwardly amused at the perian's not-strictly-medical interest, spoke softly as she tended him. "I am Hithriel. And I think that perhaps you are not as ill as you seem!" This was not wholly honest. The old Halfling was indeed seriously ill, and she worried for him, but it was not for healers to tell their patients of their fears.

"Well, I don't know about this dratted flu, but if it brings your company, perhaps I should take my winter strolls more often!" Bilbo joked.

The healer laughed, but said "Not if you wish to continue seeing me with living eyes! But need you be ill to see me? In all my long years, I have known none of your kind save yourself.  I would like to learn more of Hobbits. Are all as ... interesting as you?"

"Unfortunately, my Lady, we are mostly a dull folk. Some of my relatives... but no, I would rather hear a bit about you. To whom are you kin here in Rivendell?"

"Ai, that answer will be long! Are you certain you wish to hear it now?"

Bilbo sat up. "Lady, a Hobbit on his deathbed would hear such a tale, and I am not quite that far gone, I think, so tell on!"

Hithriel, though somewhat taken aback by the strength of the response, obliged.

"Very well! I hear that you are fond of ancient lore, so surely you know Erestor, my husband."

The Hobbit nodded enthusiastically.

"And you know Lord Elrond, of course. He is my second cousin, twice removed to the younger as Erestor tells me you phrase it.  We do not use such terms, but merely call each other 'Cousin' or 'Kinsman'.  Hobbits' specificity is remarkable."

The healer mused for a moment before continuing. "So the sons of Elrond are also my cousins. And his wife was, is, my second cousin directly." The elleth paused, remembering the old grief, before continuing. "Doubtless you know Glorfindel - he stands out enough! He is my third cousin."

The hobbit figured for a moment. "Remarkable! Does that mean, then, that you are also cousin to the Lady Galadriel?"

Hithriel frowned for a moment before continuing half-merrily. "Of course. Being the mother of Celebrian, she is is also my second cousin, but once removed to the elder."

Bilbo saw the disdain on the fair face, and croak-laughed aloud. "I do not like all of my relations either. The ones who were originally my legal heirs, I found so distasteful that I adopted young Frodo. But he turned out so well that I am ashamed of having had dislike of others as a consideration for taking him into my home. Well, things are complicated when one has no children. Have you and Erestor any?"

This never grew easier. "We did. They were slain, long ago. Let us not speak of grief today."

Bilbo reddened. "I am very sorry, my lady. You appear so youthful to me that I can never quite grasp that you are older than I am, let alone that you must have lived many an Age."

Trying to turn to lighter matters, he offered; "But if you are cousin to both Elrond and Galadriel, you must come from an illustrious line indeed!"

The straight-backed elleth seemed transformed for a moment, pride lifting the burden of years. "We are all descendents of Finwë, the High King of the Noldor. I am his great-grandaughter. Feänor, of whom you no doubt have heard, was my grandsire. Of the tales you hear sung in the Hall of Fire, I have lived many."

Bilbo was astonished. "Well, of all my adventures, being treated for a cold by such a daughter of Elf-Lords is one of the more unexpected! I .."

But the Lady cut him off. "Remind me not of how far our House has fallen!"

The Hobbit looked abashed, and the elleth softened.

"Not that I dislike my craft - it has been my delight, since I was little more than a girl. But occasionally I still wish that I were not only a healer, and such thoughts lead me to misdoubt the peace Erestor and I have found here in Imladris. We came, long ago, to dwell in the House of Elrond, in high positions, yet as subordinates. It was, at first, a hard decision. But we have found our stations, it seems. Elrond's stewardship of this valley has been remarkable, and we are glad of it."

The elleth looked sad, but only for a moment, before regaining the otherworldly, faint luminescence that Bilbo was beginning to understand attached only to the ancient among the Elves, those older even than Elrond, and not even all of these.

"So," she said, "when you sit in the Hall of Fire and hear songs of Finrod or Fingolfin or Feänor or Gil-galad, think of me, and if you would know more of them, ask me or my husband! For, as you now know, we knew them all personally. But rest you now - there will be time for more tales when you are well!"

A week later...

The Sun was bright and held the promise of Spring. Bilbo found the healer in one of the many gardens. He gave her a deep bow. "My Lady, your skills are remarkable. I feel fifty years younger. I had worried I might have started my last decline. At my age, such is to be expected. Well, I am ... at your service. I would have said 'forever', but that is a silly thing for an old Hobbit to say to an Elf."

The intensity of the elleth's smile added to the warmth of the day.

"I am glad to have helped. Do I guess rightly that you now come to collect your tale-debt?"

"That I do, my Lady!" the old Hobbit laughed. "Since I am bidden not to go on any more of my walks for a time, I thought today a good one for hearing tales. And also I recall that you wished to know more of my family, though I warn you, though my life has been short by your counting, if I begin that tale, you may find I am, how do you say it? Longwinded?"

Hithriel laughed, for of course Erestor had warned her of just that. "Perhaps I should tell my tale first?" she suggested.

The old Hobbit nodded eagerly. No doubt the deeds of her kin make for better tales than Gerontius' foibles or my young cousins' pranks, at least to anyone who is not a Hobbit, he thought.

"Whom then shall I tell you of?"

"Well, how about your brothers and sisters?"

The smile vanished, so Bilbo quickly added "In happier days. You must have had some! But I do not wish to impose. Forgive me, it is a trait of my folk. No living Hobbits have had kin killed in battle, so it is a hard grief for us to wrap our minds around. Or tell me of your childhood - whatever you prefer."

The elleth replied "Your folk are blessed, then," before brightening. "But you speak wisely. I spent many happy days in my brother's company when we were young, and even many under the Shadow. Very well, I shall tell you of my childhood, and of my brother."

"Celebrimbor was only twenty years older than me - our births were close together as the Elves account it. And so we were close, and protective of one another. That was the way of our family."

"He was very fair, though he took not the care with his dress and appearance that many do in Imladris. Lessons or play occupied our days, but we had little time for things we deemed trivial.  Such we learned from our parents, and they from theirs. My father was one of the greatest smiths of our people, surpassed at that time only by his own father and grandfather Mahtan, so it was only natural that my brother became a smith himself. And indeed he became a great one, in time."

"My mother and her sister were healers.  Although we then lived in a land with no enemies, or so it seemed, still some took hurt in accidents, particularly while hunting or at other sports. So, equally naturally, I followed my mother's path."

"And though we were of the line of the King, we were only minor great-grandchildren, so we knew not the burdens of princes. Not then! It was a happy childhood, shared with my friends, my brother and his friends. Indeed, his closest companion was Erestor. So I cannot remember a time when I did not know my husband. Does that seem strange to you?"

"Not at all." the Hobbit replied. "Who would make a more natural match than a friend of a close kinsman? It makes for strong families. Half the marriages in the Shire are such - that is why we are all cousins!"

The elleth smiled. "So it was with us, in those days. Most of our cousins were far older, but some were our age. Argon son of Fingolfin and Idril daughter of Turgon were close childhood friends of mine. If you think me fair, you should have seen Idril! She was Elrond's grandmother, you know!"

Bilbo dared not interrupt - the ancient ones seemed to carry the weight of the world within themselves, and it was rare to see one so unguarded.

"When we had free time, we would visit one another, or our older relations. Celebrimbor and I were fond of Fingon, Orodreth, and Angrod in particular, as well as various kinsfolk of my mother and her parents, whom you doubtless have never heard of. We mostly dwelt in one city - Tirion the Fair it was called, and so it was! Imagine, if you will, Imladris, but a hundred times larger."

"Once we grew a bit older, we would ride together to the Mountains, or the Sea. Not often, for by then our crafts and apprenticeships called all of us. Perhaps we worked harder than was wise, but that was the way of our folk."

"My brother came to spend most of his time with our father or grandfather, at the forge. But the duties of healers and scribes were lighter in those days, so oft Erestor - did I mention he was a scribe and messenger for Finwë? - would come to our house seeking Celebrimbor, and finding him gone or occupied, would instead visit me".

"And after a time, Erestor began to visit when he knew quite well that my brother would not be at home, and " - the elleth grinned mischievously - "it is my belief that King Finwë sent him to our House with messages to Atar a good deal more than was necessary. A conspiracy!"

"A happy one, though, for one thing led to another, and before my hundredth begetting day I was wed. That was a great day, but since it marked the end of my 'childhood', I will end the tale for now."

"Thank you, Bilbo, for helping me to recall those days. It is refreshing to tell of them anew." But it seemed the Lady was distracted, for she looked past him.

Bilbo turned to see the Counsellor of Imladris standing at the edge of the garden.

"Conspiracy? If so, it was a conspiracy of one. I would not have dared ask the King to send me on such visits."

The counsellor smiled warmly and turned to the old Hobbit.  "Yet I do not doubt he knew more than we guessed at the time!  And seven thousand years later, here we are. Now you have heard much of my childhood as well. It was a good one. And though much is darkened, some things have not." he said as his gaze returned once more to his wife. 

Bilbo bowed.  "Thank you, my good Elves, for a wonderful tale. I think I will go indoors and find something to refresh myself. Enjoy the day!"

The old Hobbit concealed his mirth until he was well out of sight and hearing, and then, feeling well-pleased with himself, whistled as he walked back to the House.

Chapter End Notes

I think the canon leaves plenty of room for some 'extra' great-grandchildren of Finwë who didn't make into the Silmarillion. Here Hithriel is one of these.

T. A. 3019, Minas Tirith

Frodo woke in a cold sweat, yet again.  Well he knew that sleep would not return for some hours, so he lit a candle and opened the door of his chamber.  Seeing the perian, an elderly Guard of the Citadel bowed deeply and greeted him.

"I cannot leave my post, Master Baggins, but an Elf of Imladris passed this way not five minutes ago.  He will not sleep this night, I deem, for he has passed me by four times.  If you wish it, and if he comes through again, I can tell him you are awake and desire speech."

Still too gripped by the visions which had robbed him of rest to make a properly polite reply, the Hobbit merely said "Thank you, Forlas.  Please do." and closed his door.  Alone again in his room, he opened the shutters and the window.  Perhaps the chill air would clear his mind.

Not ten minutes later, he felt rather than heard his door open.  Turning around, he saw Erestor in the hall.  The Elf looked upon him with pity.

"Sleep comes hard to those who have seen too much darkness, does it not, Frodo?  The last time I was in this city was a time of plague, terrible to behold.  Even Elrond could do nothing for its victims save to ease their passing."  It was not generally remembered in Gondor that Elrond had come to its aid - or tried to - so long ago, but none of the Elves who had gone with him would ever forget the sights, the wailing of the dying, or the stench.  

But that was long ago, and such burdensome memories were not to be passed to others - no more would he tell the Hobbit, he thought, than would Frodo tell him of all he had seen in the Black Land.

"I will return in a moment, with something to calm your nerves, if you wish," the Elf offered.

"Thank you, Erestor, but there is no need.  The only thing that drives the nightmares away is Lady Galadriel's gift."  

Frodo sat down on the bed and retrieved the phial from within his cloak.  It cast a faint light about the room, even though the Moon shone through the window.  "Even in Shelob's lair, it had power.  I had only to name Elbereth.  Remarkable!"

But the counsellor, staring transfixed, had heard none of the last words.  Finally he whispered "It is but a pale shadow, but still," before falling into silence.

Frodo, uneasy, replied "What troubles you?"

"I had not thought to see that light in Ennor again, other than as a star."

Frodo, not knowing how to reply, said nothing.

"Do you not know what this is?" 

"Of course.  The light of Earendil.  Though I don't know how it stays within the glass, and only shines when called upon."

"Celebrimbor made that which you hold.  He would be greatly pleased to hear that it aided the one who brought about the Enemy's downfall."

Frodo, astonished, blinked.  

"It is, as I said, but a pale shadow of the Silmarilli, which were in turn only a reminder of the two Trees.  Yet it was just powerful enough to be exactly what you required, and no more.  Had the full light been captured, you would not have escaped Sauron's notice.  But I wonder... could you give it to me for a moment?"

Frodo handed it over, wondering whether the Elf meant to kiss the phial or dash it to the floor - his expression was unsettling.

Erestor shut the door, and closed the shutters.  He held the phial aloft and began a soft incantation:

"Eru Ilúvatar! Oiyámórenna
mé-quetamartya íre queluvá tyardalma.
Ainorontessë tirtassë lasta
ar lma-vandá enyalaz, Varda Manwë!"

Before he was halfway through, the room was lit as bright as day.  By the end, Frodo had to close his eyes for fear of being blinded.  He finally opened them when he heard the Elf reopen the shutters, and saw the phial was being offered back.  

"Take care, it is quite hot."  And it was.

Erestor smiled sadly.  "The light comes when called, indeed.  But take care how you call it, Frodo.  You do not know how great a gift the Lady gave you.  With the destruction of the One and the fading of the Three - yes, they are already fading -  there are few objects of greater power left in these lands."

Frodo began to realize exactly what he held.  "I have no heir, Erestor, and it seems unlikely now that I ever shall.  I can leave this to you, if you wish."

A shake of the head.  "No, it would bring me no comfort.  Indeed, it would bring me terrible dreams, just as it drives yours away."  Of my chosen-brother.  And of things worse than plague.  "I do not wish to see it again."  He made his excuses and turned to depart.

But Frodo interjected: "Whom does it rightfully belong to, then?"

The Elf paused, looked back over his shoulder, and glanced at the Hobbit in a manner seemingly meant to communicate something, but said only "Eru.  Good even, Frodo of the Shire."

Chapter End Notes

Erestor's incantation is the ending of the Oath of Feanor (in Quenya); see http://www.elvish.org/gwaith/mrezac.htm