It'll All Be Clear by StarSpray

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Chapter 1

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The height of autumn in Imladris was always a sight to behold. The woods seemed to glow as the leaves changed from green to brilliant golds and reds and oranges, and they seemed to linger on the branches longer than elsewhere, only reluctantly turning brown and falling with whispered farewells to sun and sky. But eventually as the year waned the nights grew longer and frost came to nip at the last most stubborn buds and to gather on the windows, and gild the valley in silver every morning before the sun peered over the mountain tops to burn it away. It was at this time of year that the Hall of Fire started to see more use, especially in the lengthening evenings, as people gathered in the cozy firelight to talk and sing and tell stories.

The days were still warm, though, and Elrond found that he had little to do with the harvests all brought in and everything set for the winter, and so he took to wandering the lesser-trodden paths up into the far side of the valley, where it was pleasant and peaceful to sit in the sunshine and watch water walm up out of icy springs and trickle down from the mountain tops. It was said that the Music of Creation was heard most clearly in the Sea, but Elrond had always preferred the quieter, more delicate songs of streams and springs. This afternoon he had brought his harp up into the hills, and he plucked at the strings idly, half an idea for a song forming in the back of his mind that followed the rhythm and melody of a Goldwater spring bubbling up over smooth grey stones…

"There he is!" a voice called out, interrupting the flow of Elrond's thoughts, if not of the spring, and heralding the arrival of his two wayward uncles. They had stopped to change and bathe, he saw, before coming to find him, for they were clad in clean clothes and Elurín's hair was still damp. He sprang up the rocks to join Elrond on the sunniest spot; Eluréd followed more slowly.

"I did not expect to see you again this year," Elrond said, sitting up and setting aside his harp. "I thought you would spend at least this winter in Lórinand with Daeron."

"Galadriel did try to convince us to stay," Elurín said, as he dipped a hand into the spring to take a drink. "But we wanted to know how you'd fared on your own search."

"Surely you could have guessed," Elrond said. He had been gone chasing whispers of rumors along the shore, when Eluréd and Elurín and Nellas had left in search of Daeron—a quest that Elrond suspected was more of an excuse to go east, than a real search. Yet they had found him, and swiftly, and according to the last batch of letters Elrond had received Daeron was quite happily making himself at home in Lórinand at Amdir's court. Elrond, for his part, had found only wind and sand and the unceasing, lonely music of the Sea.

Of course, Daeron was not the only thing that Eluréd and Elurín and Nellas had found on the banks of the Limlight. Galadriel had written of that, too—of the wraiths that had once been Princes of Men, now something caught between life and death, and terrible to behold. Daeron had discovered much, but Elrond would have to wait to learn what it was in person, for it was not the sort of thing to trust to letters. He looked at Elurín, and at Eluréd, and saw that Elurín's careless cheerfulness was forced, and that Eluréd looked too weary even to try. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was very pale.

"What has happened?" Elrond asked, reaching out to take Eluréd's hand. It was cool under his, with hunter's callouses on the fingers and palms, when Eluréd turned it to grasp Elrond's hand in return. "These wraiths that Galadriel wrote of—"

"Do not speak of it!" Eluréd said. Then he smiled, a forced and tight thing that did not reach his eyes. "Do not sully your valley with such talk on such a day as this, Elrond. They tried to ensnare me, but you can see they failed. I am well! Or I will be, now that we have returned to Imladris."

"We did not see Lady Celebrían when we arrived," remarked Elurín after a few seconds.

Elrond looked away from Eluréd, allowing the change in conversation and pointedly ignoring the waggling of Elurín's eyebrows. "She left only a few days ago," he said, "wanting to make the crossing over Redhorn before winter sets in. She was very eager to meet Daeron. Tell me, does he live up to his reputation?"

A spirited and rather silly discussion ensued, comparing the merits of various Elven minstrels that Eluréd and Elurín had known. Daeron was in the end decided upon as the greatest, at least in Middle-earth. Any in Valinor could not be counted, because of course neither they nor Elrond had met any of them. In the end Elurín declared that none held a candle to Iarwain Ben-adar anyway, and there was not enough silliness and laughter in Elven music.

"Clearly you have not spent much time among my people," said Elrond, laughing. "Their favorite pastime of late is to make up songs to greet visitors and point out all of their visible flaws. I was made well aware of the state of my clothes and hair when I returned to Imladris last month. I shudder to think of what they might sing for Gil-galad when he next visits. Or Galadriel."

"We received no such songs," said Eluréd. "What do you think, Elurín, should we be flattered or offended?"

"Perhaps they know you'll give as good as you get, or better," said Elrond.

Soon enough the sun started to sink behind the western walls of the valley, and it was too cold to sit comfortably on the rocks. Eluréd was the first to remark on it, and rose to lead the way back down the path. Elrond started to follow, but Elurín caught his arm, and they went at a slower pace. "I am worried about Eluréd," Elurín said. "There is a shadow clinging to him still, despite Daeron's efforts. Those wraiths…"

"I have heard that Daeron is wise in lore, and a mighty singer," said Elrond, "but not that he is a healer. I will do what I can for Eluréd—you know that I will—but first you must tell me all that you can of these wraiths. But it can wait until the morning." Even if Eluréd and Elurín had not only just arrived after a long journey, it would not be comfortable talk for the night.

The next morning Elurín came to Elrond in his study, and raised an eyebrow at the state of it. "What's all this?" he asked, stooping to pick up a paper that had drifted off of the desk to the floor.

"I have been collecting notes on remedies and herbs and things for years," Elrond said from his position on the floor, surrounded by stacks of paper in various sizes and in various states, "and I have reached a point where I must organize them somehow."

"Only now?" Elurín laughed and sat down across from Elrond. "How does sorting them into piles all about your study help?"

"Someday I am going to copy them into a proper book." Elrond set the papers on his lap aside and looked at Elurín. "Where is Eluréd?"

"Lindir found out that we were students of Daeron for a few months. Eluréd was more willing to answer his questions than I was." Elurín examined the paper in his hand. Elrond waited patiently. It was mostly writing on that scrap, and he knew that his uncles were—not illiterate, exactly, but they had little use for writing or reading. "I've seen this plant, or one like it," Elurín said finally, showing Elrond the small sketch at the bottom. "But it was long ago. In Ossiriand, I think."

"It does not grow in Middle-earth anymore, except where it has been brought from Númenor, where they cultivate it," said Elrond as he accepted the paper back. "They call it asëa aranion; in Sindarin it is athelas. Some say it is what Lúthien used to heal Beren's wounds. It has several uses, from wounds to poisons to troubled spirits."

Elurín examined the sketch again. "Do you think it would help Eluréd?"

"It is worth a try. Tell me more of the wraiths, what you saw and what you felt."

Elrond learned more about these new servants of the Enemy before lunch that day than he had ever wished to know. They were far more powerful than anything he had yet encountered—and at last they saw what Sauron's ultimate goal with regard to the Rings of Power had been. He shuddered to think of what the bearers of the Three might have become, if Celebrimbor had not become aware of the treachery when he had. "What became of the other great rings?" Elurín asked at last, when his tale was done. They had been sitting on Elrond's study floor for several minutes, each lost in thought. The fountain outside of Elrond's window had been turned off, and so there was not even the sound of flowing water to break the silence.

"The Three are safe, unused," said Elrond. "Those Celebrimbor never surrendered, though he clearly gave up the Nine, whose fates we now know. He gave up what remained of the Seven, those that had not been given away already. The Dwarves know enough to be wary but I do not know how or if they use the rings they have, but it is clear now that Sauron underestimated them, and misunderstood their nature, for I have never heard of one foe the Dwarven bearers fading in this way. And there were many lesser rings, but I think most were destroyed in the sack of Eregion, or else taken back to Mordor as plunder. I know little of ring lore, but I do not think a lesser ring would do—that."

"That accords with what Nellas said. I wondered that she knew as much as she did, but then she dwelt with Galadriel for a time in Eregion, and in Lórinand after."

"Nellas knows many things, I am sure, that no one would expect her to," said Elrond. He began to gather up the papers, placing the various piles in order and out of the way of where they might be stepped on. "What troubles Eluréd the most?"

"The dark," Elurín said. "It never used to hold fear for us. Since childhood it has been ever our friend, and we have wrapped the night-shadows around ourselves like cloaks. Now even I am nervous when the sun sets and we are out in the open, and Eluréd can barely sleep when we must camp out. He wore himself ragged on our journey here. And almost as bad as the dark is the cold—and it is not the memory of the waters of the Limlight that troubles him." He sighed. "But he still won't speak of it. He says he doesn't want to trouble you."

"Neither one of us can force him to," said Elrond. "But I will be ready when he is."

Elurín looked at him somberly. It was a strange expression on his face, and Elrond did not like it. "I am no more a healer than Daeron," he said. "Tell me truly, Elrond, how worried should I be?"

"I cannot say for certain, yet. But I do not believe Eluréd is in any danger of fading."

They went in search of Eluréd and found him in higher spirits than Elrond had been expecting, given their conversation, but he was laughing with Lindir over some silly song or other in the Hall of Fire. Elrond did note, however, that Eluréd was seated as close to the fire as he could get without catching fire himself. Elurín went to sprawl out on some cushions in between Lindir and Eluréd to join in their chorus; Elrond sat down in a chair nearby, out of their way but close enough to take part in conversation if he was wanted—and most importantly, close enough to watch and listen, with more than his eyes and ears.

As the afternoon wore on others came and went. Someone came in to trim the candle wicks and someone else a few minutes later to light them as the pale winter sunshine began to fade from the high windows. In the flickering fire and candlelight the tapestries on the walls seemed to move as though the figures in them came alive to dance in their woven woods to the tune of Lindir's harp and Elurín's flute. Eluréd's voice did not falter, but the notes fell flatter than they used to, and he tired more quickly than had been his wont, letting Lindir take up the singing and instead merely leaning against Elurín's shoulder to listen. As the room began to fill up with the evening he caught Elrond's eye, and came to sit beside him. "You are quiet this evening, nephew," he said, the lightness in his voice patently false.

"So are you," Elrond replied. "I spoke with Elurín this morning."

Eluréd wrinkled his nose. "I suppose he told you all about what happened by the Limlight."

"He did."

"I will be fine, Elrond. Elurín worries too much."

"I know you'll be fine," said Elrond. Eluréd sat back, blinking at him. Either he had believed Elrond also worried too much, or he had not been so unconcerned about himself. "Time and comfort will do you much good," Elrond went on, "but there are also things that I can do for you. Unless your pride prevents you from asking."

Eluréd laughed, though it was a quiet sound. "You think I am proud, Elrond?"

"I think any descendant of Elu Thingol can hardly hope to escape that particular vice," Elrond replied. "And I have it on both sides."

"Was Eärendil particularly prideful?"

"I have not heard so, but Turgon was. And you are changing the subject. What are you afraid of?"

Eluréd did not answer immediately. His gaze strayed back to Elurín, who was disrupting Lindir's performance with irregular, discordant notes, making the children laugh and Lindir glower. Elrond waited, and turned his own gaze to one of the nearest tapestries, which depicted Lúthien dancing in Neldoreth, white niphredil like stars blooming in her wake.

Finally, Eluréd said, "Do you know what I always think, when I wake up in the night after dreaming of deadly shadows and drowning in freezing water?" When Elrond turned to him he found that Eluréd was also looking at the tapestry. "I think, I want to go home. But—it is often said that to Cuiviénen there is no returning, but there is also no returning to Doriath, or to sunny Tol Galen on the River Adurant."

"Tol Galen is still there," said Elrond.

"But it is not the same. It is an island in the Sea, now, not in a river, and neither Beren nor Lúthien are there to make it home." Eluréd looked at Elrond. "Doriath never really felt like home to us. We weren't there long enough. And though we spent many a winter with Iarwain and summers with Goldberry on the Withywindle, nowhere in Eriador was truly home, either. We were only wanderers or guests. And we are wanderers and guests, still. It never bothered me before. I don't know why it does now."

"You don't need to always be guests," said Elrond. "Not here. None of us would be here in this valley if it were not for you and Elurín. Perhaps if you stayed longer than a handful of years at a time, it would feel more homelike."

"Perhaps. I think I am homesick not for a place but for a time—and it is colored by fondness and childhood, so even if we could go back to the Ossiriand where Beren and Lúthien walked, it would not be the same."

"There is no returning, to Beleriand or to Cuiviénen," said Elrond. "All we can do is move forward. And that is what the Enemy hopes to prevent." He rose. "Elurín tells me you haven't been sleeping well. I have something that may help."

Eluréd sighed, and rose to follow. "Very well, nephew. If I take my medicine, will you and Elurín stop watching me like I might shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment?"
"I cannot speak for Elurín, but I will be satisfied," said Elrond. He led the way to the room that Eluréd and Elurín shared. It had been theirs alone from the very beginning, though perhaps neither had noticed. A kettle of water was already heating on a brazier; Eluréd prepared for bed as it heated, casting curious looks at it and at Elrond, but asking no questions. When the water boiled Elrond poured it into a basin, and brought out a packet of leaves. He did not often use athelas, and he did not harbor any illusions that it would cure Eluréd's particular ailment, but it would at least ease his spirits and perhaps allow him a night of unbroken rest. He broke a few dried leaves and breathed on them before dropping them into the steaming water. The room soon filled with the scent of lily flowers and niphredil mingled with sun-warmed grass, as on a riverbank.

Eluréd took a deep breath, and smiled. "Oh, that's nice. Thank you, Elrond."

"Sleep well, Eluréd."