Who Heals the Healer?
By Laura L.
Just playing in Tolkien's sandbox. With his toys.
Part Two: No Matter Where She Went
She woke in a warm bed, branches swaying above her in the soft golden light of mid-morning. She lay a long while, reviewing the night before, only cursorily aware of her surroundings, a flet to herself, and a few simple but elegant pieces of furniture.
Had she truly helped her lord? Where had this sudden weariness come from?
"The sleeper awakes," a good-natured voice admonished her. She turned her head to see Yávië there, a tray in his hands. He was wearing newly washed traveling clothes of varying shades of green that set off his autumn hair perfectly. Instantly she recalled that they were moving onward to the Healers House that day.
"You should have waked me," she returned, sitting up slowly. Lethargy was in her limbs and sleep in her mind.
"You needed your rest, and I would not gainsay anything Lord Elrond tells me, and hope to escape his wrath." Yávië grinned and Celebarien tried to smile back in response. Yávië was so open and sunny, from his coloring to his personality, that he seemed to radiate his cheer before him. Celebarien could always rely on Yávië's aura, which was almost blindingly gold. "So I will make sure you take your restoratives and that you are ready before we depart."
Celebarien sighed, and took the cup Yávië handed to her as he sat on the edge of her bed. "I don't know why I am so weary," she admitted to her colleague. "It was a brief connection."
"You are tired because you did a great healing on Lord Celeborn, for which we are all grateful. There's been word from the Lady herself. His outlook has much improved."
A weight slipped from Celebarien's mind. "I am glad, though I do not know if it was my healing or his own that is to be praised."
"You are too severe on yourself," the redhead complained mildly, and took back the empty cup. "Now eat and recover yourself. I'll send up water for bathing and a new set of clothes sent over from the Lord and Lady. There is no reason for speed today, only that we should have half a day to travel is all."
"How is it that the House is so far?"
"We exchange the duties for those in attendance at court, and for emergencies. The rest of us stay quiet at the House so that our patients can have peace there, away from complications of court and city. We have hardly any injuries here, and few reasons to be immediate to the center of court. Those who come to us suffer more in mind than body."
Yávië left her, and servants brought the bathing tub, a great luxury, as if she were unable to descend to bathe like a normal person. The clothes came in as she was drying, and they were amazing, soft grays and blues, embroidered and layered, entirely complimentary to someone of her coloring. There was a circlet with a blue stone, the slender metal of which was silver and crafted into the curves of flowering vines. When at last her hair was braided properly for travel and the circlet placed just so, she was surprised to see that her weariness did not show, that the woman in the mirror looked young and unscarred, if naturally pale and perhaps too slender, a pale page to be writ upon and not the stained annals she knew her soul to be.
No matter where she went, it seemed not to touch her.
The woods deepened as they traveled south and west, and even though the forest was old, the trees bore the weight of years lightly. This was no Fangorn or Mirkwood, but Orome's Woods.
"Where did Thranduil settle?" she asked Yávië. Thranduil of Mirkwood had been one of the last of the Sindarin Quendi to finally leave the Mortal Lands, preceding his kinsman Celeborn only by a few years. However, some of people had gone on before to settle a place for his court generations before.
"They've taken the far southwestern and oldest section of Orome's Forest. Those Wood Elves are never happy unless they have ancient trees to care for, as you know. In fact, we're somewhere between Loreryn (our new Lothlorien) and Galentaur (the new Mirkwood) We get some traffic from Thranduil, but not much. He trusts to his own healers most of the time. We get the stranger or more immediate cases. One of his sons fell from a high tree not a moon ago, and we're still caring for him because it was the shorter distance to carry him."
"A month to heal? Was it that serious?"
"The wound wasn't serious at all. A gash, a broken leg.what you would expect from a bad fall. But he's not quite healed in the heart, if you know what I mean. The fall was the effect of some other problem, I think. Just the sort of thing we were hoping you'd look into."
"I'll definitely look into it," Celebarien agreed. Wood Elves were more secretive and hardier than her own people, insular to the point of xenophobia, so it was always interesting to interact with them for experience's sake. "Any other problems I can take care of?"
"You've already solved one of the more outstanding worries we had. I'd rather you concentrate on acclimating to your new home; make it comfortable; learn the terrain, so to speak. There are beautiful, sunny meadows and flowers and herbs, the river and the hills. Valar be praised."
They stopped to eat and water the horses just short of dusk by the side of the narrow road, then remounted. The land climbed a bit, until they came to a turn in the trail and Celebarien caught sight of her new home.
She did not have to ask who aided in the design. The Healers House was built high on a rock cliff between the issue of two waterfalls. Lights were glimmering in the windows and balconies. It was Imladris again, but a community that did not have to shelter in a defendable valley or hide itself. This House could be seen from down river for many leagues.
They climbed the promontory, then crossed one of the river-falls by a wide and arched stone bridge. Already there were people waiting in the courtyard to take the horses and gear, and the head healer on the steps to welcome them.
Laicë had been the Lady's head healer since the fall of Doriath; he was old and wise beyond anyone's ken, and as still as stone. His black hair was so long it would drag the ground if completely unbound, and the envy of men and maids alike. His pale green eyes were piercing and astute, and he communicated more with them than he did with voice or mind. His slow grace, stillness and beauty were a matter of pride among the healers, but in later generations he had become insular and reluctant to interface with court, delegating those duties to the younger healers and supervising the smaller, more intimate main house. There had been talk of Laicë choosing a successor for at least a hundred years, and the general consensus was that it would be Yávië, whose skills were exceptional and, more importantly, everyone respected and liked both among healers and the court that controlled them.
Laicë 's green eyes watched Celebarien's polite advance, and he raised his cool hand to her cheek in the old manner of greeting after long parting. "Finally, the last child has come," he said. "I have longed for this day."
Celebarien did not like falsehoods, even for the sake of politeness, so wisely kept silent on the subject of longing, merely nodding. Laicë's eyes would see the truth, even unsaid.
"Why are you late, Child?" he inquired. Only someone as ancient as Laicë could call her such and not sound ridiculous.
Yávië, ascending behind, said apologetically: "Celebarien was summoned to the Lord for heart healing, and we gave her time to recover this morning."
A dark brow arched. "Hardly a day passes for you in Valinor, and already you have been put to work," he commented. "I wish to hear the whole tale later. Yávië, have her shown to her rooms. We have a special dinner for the occasion planned, but it will be just as well tomorrow as tonight. Things best done cannot be rushed."
So she was shown through the palatial dimensions of the Healers House and up to her rooms. It was, like the whole, lovely. Someone had recalled her favorite colors of lavender and green in the silk covers and draperies, and she was surprised to see some of her things already set out, making her wonder if carts had gone directly from the ship, bypassing the night's delay.
"Settle in and rest," Yávië suggested. "I will speak to Laicë. There's no work that can't be put off for a bit, and you need the time."
Celebarien felt like protesting, but protesting what she wasn't sure. Resting was something she intrinsically knew she needed, but it was the last thing she wanted to do. Resting meant thinking and reflection, of time neither impacted with new complications nor filled with details to be dealt with.
She arranged her few things, explored the new space, marveling at the intricacies of the wooden desk and the supplies left inside for her. She placed her book of leaves in the top drawer. The bookshelves were nearly empty but for what she thought either Laicë or Yávië had placed there as necessary: the standard book of herb lore which was always the best reference, a new book of maps, the old worn tome of healers' lore. She found two books absolutely blank, and made of flower-embedded, handmade papers reminiscent of the work of Celeborn's bookmaker. She spent more than the necessary time turning the pages and feeling the texture the flowers and thick paper.
Later she attempted to sleep in the new, soft bed, and found to her surprise that sleep came easily and deeply.
She dreamed of Mirkwood as it had been in those later years, but when she woke she could not recall it except for a sense of unease.
There was water and restoratives by the bed, Yávië's presence still lingering, golden, in the room brightening in midday. She rose with the goblet and went out on her balcony to see what she could not see the night before.
The view below was exquisite: an orchard and graceful statuary, and in the distance a sheltered house for herbs. It was restful on the eye, much more so than the view she had imagined of the rivers and rapids roaring down to the falls. The structure had been very minutely thought out.
There was an Elf in green and brown walking aimlessly through the orchard, trailing his hands among the rough bark of the apple trees, his movements listless and awkward. From his mahogany hair and darkened aura, Celebarien guessed this was Thranduil's recuperating son. Yávië had the right of one thing; this one's true wound was to the spirit.
She heard the door open and close, and soft footsteps, but did not turn, knowing them. Laicë appeared at her side, a shadow of dark hair and emerald robes. He nodded toward the listless Elf wandering there. "That one. A difficult patient, reluctant to let go of his pain. Quite within your scope, I think."
"Yes," she replied, undaunted. It was the sort of work that had distinguished her among her colleagues , and she was not afraid of it, having left the worse work behind in a savage native land. "He has lost someone."
Laicë did not turn his head but she could tell he was surprised. "Why do you think so?"
"I just know," she said. "I've been acquainted with that sort of grief too well these past years."
"Indeed."
Celebarien turned. "I am sorry to keep you. Was there something you wanted?"
"Only to see you and speak to you," the elder replied. "And I must say that Yávië is correct; you are too worn for someone so young. It is time you rested among your kind and shirk the harder responsibilities. There are other shoulders to bear them now."
She nodded, knowing the wisdom of it, and avoided the bitter thoughts and memories of the time when her shoulders had taken the full weight of a burden immeasurable. "Give me leave alone to look into Thranduil's son, and I will be content to rest otherwise. It saddens to see one so young so darkened, particularly here."
Laicë sighed and inclined his head. "Heed yourself, lest you too be darkened by your fatigue. It does us not good if you are worn thin, when such as his lordship needs you. Elrond, too, is here, and may have need as well."
Celebarien started at the name, and recollection of the face came to her unwanted. She dared not distract herself even now with such remembrances, not if she wished to rest.
After Laicë departed, she stood still on the balcony, regarding the apple trees and the wandering Elf in their shadows. He paused, staring up. Even from a distance she saw that his eyes were a brilliant green, but they too were shadowed and haunted. She nodded politely, and after a hesitation, he returned the gesture before continuing his circular course.
She ate what was brought to her, and when the servants came in to light the fire in the hearth, she sat next to it with an empty mind. As soon as she was warmed, she retreated to the silken bed and fell deeply asleep.
The sun did not wake her until it was high in the sky. For the first time in a long while she felt as if she had not wrestled with dreams and portents, and lay a long while listening to the birdsong in the orchard outside her window and the faint backdrop of the falls.
And for the first time she was curious to know the name of the river that poured itself over the cliff, and whether there were maps of this part of the forest in that book on her shelves. Eventually these thoughts grew insistent, and she relented to get up, bathe, dress and seek out the kitchens for a bite.
The cooks guided her to the empty dining hall and brought her fresh baked bed and fruit, with cool cider to drink, and that was where Yávië found her. He sank down on the chair across from her and signaled the to cook for his own cider.
"I take it you slept well," he inquired.
"Yes. My thanks." Celebarien gave her friend a sour face. "You told Laicë on me."
"As if he doesn't have eyes of his own." The cook brought the cup and Yávië nodded his thanks, receiving a blush and a scurry.
Celebarien remarked on this only with a raised brow. Yávië, like so many healers, had never married, and what private life he did have was never on display. "I slept so well, in fact, that I've a mind to go walking a little before dinner," she announced.
Her colleague smiled. "That is a wonderful idea! Put the color in your cheeks again, we shall, and fatten you up tonight. The last and the youngest has returned, after all!"
Celebarien smiled into her cup, allowing the auburn-haired Elf's golden aura wash over her own. "Perhaps the first and not the second," she said pertly. "Is there a map of the area, or shall I find a guide?"
Yávië paused, wrinkled his brow, then smiled sunnily. "I know just the one," he said.
++++
The lone figure stood under the apple trees was much as he had the day before, and if it hadn't been for the change in apparel and the clean, combed hair, she might have thought he had not moved all night. He stirred as she neared, straightening his long form. The Elves of Mirkwood tended to not be so tall, but they were of a height.
He bowed, and the face emerging from lengths of mahogany hair was very fair, but the eyes were dull, and there was a neglected air about him that she could not place.
"Well met," she greeted. "I am Celebarien of the House of Cúthalion, out of Doriath."
"Legolas, son of Thranduil of Galentaur at your service, Lady," he replied after a minute pause, over her titles she doubted not. He was still young enough to use his paternity, she realized.
"Prince Legolas, then?" she asked with a little smile.
"A daughter of Strongbow's house might demand higher company," he said with a self-depreciating twist of the mouth, "but I would rather not use that title."
She nodded her willingness to his wishes.
"You are a healer here," he said, part question.
"I am the last, from the last ship," she agreed. "I tarried long in the Mortal Lands, and have lately come with my lord into Valinor, and thence here." At his wary look, she amended: "I am in sore need of a guide today. Of healing we need not speak, although we must speak of it in days to come."
With a resigned set of his shoulders, he nodded. "I would be happy to escort such a fine lady anywhere she wishes," he told her, his attempt at gallantry falling a little short.
"I should hope you would not be half so generous if I were half so fine," she remarked lightly as he led her from the orchard.
He laughed, startled. "Your pardon, Lady. My chivalry has seen better days."
"One can hope it will see them again in future. Now, Yávië tells me there is a meadow a little northwards."
"Indeed, I know the place."
He took her down narrow footpaths, trailing his fingertips across the bark of young trees, his head canted so his eyes watched the swaying of the branches above him. He reminded her of an awkward youth far gone. Although far from boyhood, and a veteran of the Ring War, there was some echo of how he might have been once, light-hearted and carefree.
He brought her to a meadow flowering yellow and purple in the late afternoon sun and stood with her on the edge as she gazed her fill of the warm and soul-filling sight. A small, cool breeze moved the stems and flowers like ripples across a still pond in a wave of color.
"Shall I leave you here for a time, Lady?" he asked courteously, "or do you require a companion?"
"I would not stay you if you care to be elsewhere," she murmured. "I take it you want to commune with the trees out yonder?"
He chuckled. "Just so. Shall I return within the hour and see you safely back?"
"I thank you, yes."
She did not expect to hear him go, and indeed she did not as she stood for a long while, breathing deep of a mixture of organic scents. Her nose knew many of them, even in this combination, and she thought to bring a basket next time to pick the asphodel and nephredil. Yet, she was loath to step forward, somehow, for although the beauty of the place moved her, it did not move her to joy. Instead, her chest ached with a strange mysterious regret that was melting into the realization that finally, finally here was happiness that could be tasted, tasted and savored, not shunted for a later time, not pushed away because she dare not feel it.
She could finally begin to taste joy again, she who had made a habit to subjugate all of her gladness and sorrow.
She realized that finally this place could touch her if she let it, yet she did not know if she could let anything touch her, after so long.
She did eventually walk among the flowers, breaking off a few pale nephridel for her rooms. She found a shady bower along the edge of the meadow and there she lazed for a while, letting the breeze stroke her face and the scent of flowers and wild herbs tickle her nose.
She must have just dozed when Legolas's deliberately audible step woke her, and blinking, she glanced up to find the son of Thranduil with the sun behind his head, making his hair blaze darkly red like a false corona.
"And how do you like this place?" he asked, offering her a hand.
"I like it well, although I meant not to sleep."
"I think it required, Lady, that one must experience the joy of napping in a sunny meadow," he said most seriously as they made their way back to the House. "It shows a certain disrespect to not succumb to the pleasures of nature, do you not think?"
"Exactly so," she agreed with a smile. "I have always thought so, but I think that is a philosophy inherent to the woodland realms."
"Just so. I have always thought the Sindar more advanced in that regard," he said and she had to laugh, for she, too, was Sindarin, and it had always been something of pride to be so.
The sun was setting as they climbed the steps into the House. They parted with courtesies on both sides, and she took a trip to her rooms to put the flowers in water and change into something more in keeping with a special dinner, as she was the guest of honor.
She noted wryly that there were more gowns in her closet than had been earlier that day, and they all seemed to echo the colors of the dress she had received from the Lord and Lady except one or two. She favored the slender periwinkle gown she found in the midst of the sea of gray and blue, and tried it on in front of a newly arrived mirror. She approved of the trailing sleeves and long row of laces down the front that flattered her waistline and diverted the eyes from the boyishness of her figure.
She drew a deep breath and entered the hall, nodding politely to the assembled healers there, familiar and unfamiliar alike. Yávië saw her and took charge, beginning the rounds of introduction and re-acquaintance. There was a strange wary curiosity in the eyes of several of the younger ones, and she wondered what sort of hierarchy she was disturbing to create such a reaction. She pushed aside these thoughts and made an effort to appear friendlier than she felt, knowing that she often made the impression of cool disdain among strangers.
At last, they were allowed to sit and be served. She sat at Laicë's left, with Yávië on his right, which only reinforced the impression that Yávië would one day be head healer. This impression was furthered when Yávië made the opening toast in the more retiring Laicë's stead.
There was the more nourishing fowl and a bit of venison brought in by Galadhrim hunters who provided for all of the Lord and Lady's subjects. The bread was fresh from the ovens and redolent with fresh herbs. All manner of drink went about, wines and ales and the heavier, cloying meads favored by Thranduil's folk. All imbibed to their taste. As was traditional, there was gift giving involved in the arrival of a healer, new or not, and of this Celebarien had forgotten. It had seemed a long while since last she had lived among her peers, and the established ceremonies had slipped her mind. She came to realize, as her colleagues gave her little things for her welcome, that she had become a symbol representing the end of an era. No longer would her people gaze East in expectation. Now their gaze was at last completely inward.
Traditionally, the gifts were small, usually handcrafted or made by the gifts of the giver. They were meant to be practical, so there were baskets of dried flowers, jars of scented unguents, a bracelet of small translucent river stones, a small, copied book of herbal remedies, a woven cloth belt tasseled in a rainbow of pale colors, a jar of lavender ink, a curved small knife, and a number of thin silver rings. Each gift was meant to reflect the skills of the giver, and by this Celebarien learned the talents of her peers. Yávië came forward with an intricate hair clasp. Laicë's gift was a bow of the Galadhrim design, inlaid in gold. Celebarien, who had left her own worn bow behind, was thankful for this gift, although she suspected that Laicë meant it to be symbolic of her house.
It was at last time for her to say the closing words, and for a dread moment she did not know what to say, she who had been used to solitude for so long. But she took solace in her own honest manner and, standing, said: "I was long tarrying in the Mortal Lands, true; forgive me if I have forgotten how to be among civilized folk." This earned a surprised laugh. "I give myself over to your kind indulgence, for am like a child again in a new home. In return, I hope to be of use and make of myself a diligent servant. To you, my teachers." And she saluted them with the remnants of her wine.
There was a polite reciprocation, and the diners began to move off to their own pursuits. Laicë excused himself, and Yávië slipped off to coordinate the clean up, leaving Celebarien at last to her own devices.
As Celebarien began to gather her gifts, one of the musicians who had been playing in upper balcony approached, a lap-harp under her arm. She was extraordinarily young, long-limbed and coltish, her dark brown hair plaited with a multitude of beaded and ribboned braids. Her eyes, however, were a familiar blue, the Teleri blue Celebarien saw in her own reflection daily.
"I am Tuilë," she said, bowing. "I believe I am your cousin."
After seeing those eyes, Celebarien was hardly surprised. "Ah, in what way do you think so?"
"The stablemaster at Loreryn once told me I had a cousin-healer who kept her stock with him, who was the daughter of Beleg. I am the great-grand- daughter of Brethil, who was brother to the sire of Cúthalion."
Celebarien tried to mentally track that, and found that, indeed, they were related to some degree. "Well met, Cousin," she said happily. "I beg your pardon for questioning the connection. I am not in the habit of being in the company of family."
"No need to apologize! I would wonder at it if a stranger introduced herself as a relation, myself!"
"A musician, are you? A healer?"
"Healer's apprentice," Tuilë amended. "Harper on the side, so to speak. It whiles away the time. That, and horses."
Celebarien smiled. "Then indeed you are my cousin in more ways than one!"
"Ay, I've heard you were as horse-mad in your day as I am now," the younger agreed. "You used to train them up."
"Yes, when I had the time," Celebarien replied, "before things got.complicated."
"Do you mean the work in the Mortal Lands? But that is over, is it not? Will you train again? I should so like to learn it from you. No one trains them Sindar-style as our family once did, and the older horses are starting to fade. There's only the one or two from your training left, brought over on earlier ships, and they are prized like gold in the Galadhrim stables."
Celebarien felt her brows rising further and further at this. "Are they? I did not know. Then I suppose asking to have Morrillë back might be a struggle."
"Your black mare? Is she living still? She made the crossing? Oh, please do recall her here!"
Celebarien shook her head. "What is here for a spirited Sindar steed? She is easily wearied by lack of excitement and company. Better to be busy in the greater stables than to be exiled in this quiet place."
Tuilë's disappointment was easily read, young as she was. "Oh, please reconsider! You shall not be so busy here with duties, and will have more time for such things as horses. There is Thranduil's Galentaur and the Lord and Lady's Loreryn to ride to."
These younger ones, Celebarien mused, looking into the young, emotional face. Tuilë's excitement made her feel every year of her life. There was a mighty gap between Celebarien's pre-cataclysm generation and the later generations of Legolas and Tuilë, although the older Elves called Celebarien "young" as easily as Tuilë. Despite that gap of time, there were few generations of children between. Elves did not breed prolifically in times of war and upheaval. Celebarien's generation had been the last great generation between the fall of Doriath and the rise of Gil-galad.
There was a lightness of personality in the later generations that Celebarien's did not understand. Perhaps the certainty of returning to Valinor, implicit in the characters of the young ones had gifted them that lightness. In Celebarien's generation, there was always an uncertainty about the future.
"Cousin," she said after a long moment, "I will reconsider on your behalf."
It was almost a reward to see a bright smile in response.
She found Legolas in the orchard, but this time neither of them pretended it was a merely social occasion. They found a shady place in soft grass and there Celebarien looked into his eyes, for the first time in the purpose of healing.
"You have lost someone," she said, confirming the first impression once again. "It does not allow you to mend." The Sindarin prince's startled glance was as obvious as a shout, and Celebarien knew that she had been correct. "Tell me of this person."
Legolas shrugged, but his eyes were dark and weary. "No one has died."
"But the friendship is lost, nonetheless," she replied, "and immoderately you grieve. In your heart, you grieve."
Legolas's mouth trembled and his head sunk lower, as if a great weight were settling over his neck and shoulders.
"Can you not retrieve--?"
"It is not possible."
"Surely--?"
"It is not possible, Healer!" Shadowed green eyes snapped at her in sudden fury. "You do not know of what you speak!"
And with that, the Sindar was on his feet and striding away.
Celebarien sat for a long while, reviewing the words, wondering how she could have given offense. It was not, she surmised, her own limitations this time. It was his.
Laicë was not surprised when she reported to the head healer that afternoon in the study where Laicë kept court.
"Even your famous talents will be challenged," he said. "This is a young and stubborn creature, not used to divulging what he wishes not to." At her look, he sighed understandingly. "That does not ease your own feelings of disquiet, I know. Try again in a few days. Let him think on things. These young ones need more time to reflect than the older generations."
"So I understand," Celebarien replied, thinking of Tuilë. "Speaking of which, how shall I send to Loreryn for my mount? Tuilë and I have been thinking it would do me good to go riding, and I would prefer a Cúthalion- trained steed if I am to make a habit of it."
"It is a fine idea," Laicë agreed. "There are daily messengers to and from court. Send a missive addressed to your family, and it will find its way there." The head healer showed her where messages were left for delivery.
Celebarien wrote a letter to the stable master. She spent the rest of the day looking over maps of the area, and later discussing them with Tuilë, who had been adventurously exploring when duty permitted, but who had concentrated on the northern parts of the forest.
"Is Thranduil friendly enough to allow explorations to the southwest? I should like to consult with the prince's people for insight."
Her cousin shrugged. "They won't shoot at us, at least, and it shall be an adventure."
"It shall at that."
It took two days for the arrival of Morrillë. Elven steeds came and went at will, so she could not count that the mare would be at the stables where the messenger told her she was left there. She was happy, therefore, to see black Morrillë running the length of the fenced grazing yard, scrutinizing her new home. Celebarien whistled and the mare turned, and trotted over, ducking her proud head to be scratched.
"I am sorry for the tiresome journey, my friend," Celebarien murmured. "I have need of you here. Is it not a pretty place?"
Morrillë blew against her fingers, nodding, and rolled a wry eye toward the stables where Celebarien saw a few horses' heads peaking curiously from the wide door. One of them was Tuilë's chestnut stallion, Aduial. "That one? He's a fine fellow, though I'm not sure he's your type. He's still on the green side. Still, you'll be much in company, so it doesn't hurt to get acquainted."
Morrillë nodded against her hand, and turning, sped across the field.
"She is, as always, the finest," said a deep and familiar voice behind her. It sent a shiver of alarm down her back at its unexpectedness. It must be alarm, she told herself. Slowly she turned, blinking at Elrond Peredhel.
"My lord," she said, thinking that her smile might be a trifle forced.
"I wanted to present Morrillë to you, but Laicë got to me first," the former lord of Imladris explained on the way back to the house.
Celebarien glanced at him surreptitiously. He seemed at ease and casual in his thin linen shirt and leather riding clothes. His glossy, black hair was braided in a thick cable for the journey. He hardly seemed the self contained and sophisticated lord she knew. This was confirmed by his aura, which instead of being a wave of calm blue, was sparking a deep violet- indigo. She wondered at that. Why was he agitated?
"You brought her? Then I am in your debt, although I cannot see that it is worth your time to deliver a horse to the House of Healing."
"It is worth my time that I was bringing her to you, Lady," he said, in that way of his that said he was not being gallant, just truthful. "To be honest, I have other business here."
"Is that so? Then my guilt is assuaged. I would not be the one who took you from those who need you."
His smile flashed, silver-gray eyes crinkling. "You value yourself less than you should," he said. "To be truthful, you are the reason I am here."
"Oh?" She dared not show her face to his penetrating glance. "I am flattered."
"Your tone says not."
She did not know how to reply to that.
"Laicë has asked my opinion concerning Legolas, which in turn I hope will help you," he continued. "Laicë is also concerned for your health, and I can see why."
"This conspiracy grows every day," she commented.
"Are you saying we should not be concerned? I remember the past, Lady. You were never this retiring."
No, she thought. I wanted always to be moving, to be doing.and look at what that brought me! "I live among a community of healers, My Lord. What do you hope to see that they cannot?"
He stopped, forcing her to halt as well out of courtesy's sake. His piercing eyes studied her, and she presented him with the face of one whom has long shielded her inner self from others. "What do I hope to see? That is an interesting question, Lady Arien, which begs others: why are you concerned about what I see? What are you hiding?"
The flash of irritation she felt was more for herself than for him. She should have thought more carefully before she opened her mouth. "As ever, you are too keen, My Lord."
He seemed to want to respond to that, but they were interrupted by the running figure of Tuilë, braids and ribbons flying as she leapt down the stairs. "Celebarien!" She realized her mistake as she hit the last step and looked directly at her cousin, taking in the figure standing next to her. "My apologies. You have company."
Thank you, Tuilë! Celebarien sighed internally. "My Lord Elrond, this is my cousin, Tuilë. Tuilë, this is Lord Elrond of Im- your pardon, Loreryn."
Tuilë's bright, curious examination at the peredhel confirmed Celebarien's suspicion that her private life was very much a matter of speculation.
"A pleasure," Elrond said with a small bow.
"The pleasure is entirely mine," Tuilë returned with a small bow of her own and a smile. "You are not the same Elrond of the history books, then? The herald of Gil-Galad?"
Celebarien almost winced. The sorrows of older Elves meant little to the younger, she knew, but Elrond's history was full of heartache and misery; not the sort of thing one mentioned in casual conversation.
"Sadly, I am, Lady," the peredhel said.
"Oh, that is grand! I did not know my cousin knew such an auspicious person. She surprises me every day."
Elrond turned a wry eye on Celebarien. "In that, Lady, we are not so different."
"Was there something you wanted?" Celebarien asked Tuilë quickly.
"I've heard Morrillë was here. I wanted to -" Tuilë made an aborted gesture toward the field.
"By all means. She was running the pasture fence a moment ago and giving Aduial the eye."
"She moves fast, then. Unlike her mistress," Tuilë laughed, and took off like a shot before Celebarien could protest.
"Filly," she grumbled and Elrond laughed.
"I take it she is horse-crazy like many of the line?"
"Doubtless. She and I will be riding out together, now that Morrillë is here."
"I am glad of it."
Apparently he though it would be good for her health, she thought resentfully, but she held her tongue, aware that she had already revealed too much of herself to him.
"I would like to see Legolas sometime tomorrow, if possible," he said.
"I would be happy to allow it. I was to speak again with him, anyway."
"I hear the first attempt was not so satisfactory."
Celebarien sighed. "Indeed. It is rare that a patient runs from me."
Elrond's brows rose. "What was said that caused such a reaction?"
"I had determined that his ailment is more of the heart than body. He has lost a friend. I asked if he might retrieve the friendship. When he said it was impossible, I questioned him. He fled."
The lord frowned. "Then indeed you were correct; the lost of the friend is the cause of his fall and slow recovery."
"I fear so."
"How long did it take to ascertain this cause?"
"For me? A moment."
He laughed softly. "I am not the only keen one here," he said at her questioning glance. "This has been a mystery ailment for a while now among the healers, and a mere moment is all it takes for you to understand it."
"I have had .some experience with this sort of problem."
She avoided his quick look.
"I imagine so," was all he said.
It was not a large dinner, the reception Laicë had arranged for the favorable guest . So when Celebarien entered the smaller eating hall, there were only half a dozen others. She made her obeisance to Laicë and Elrond, noticing that he had let his hair down and had changed into the velvet robes she remembered. It was not something she wanted to linger on, but the observation stayed with her longer than she wished, sitting uncomfortably over their earlier conversation of the day, like too sweet candy on a restless stomach.
She had little appetite but forced herself to more than pick at her food when Yávië's glance told her she was not fooling him. The two others at table were Laicë's steward and the herbal master, a quiet woman she remembered vaguely from the night before because of the flowers she wore in her hair.
Elrond seemed to recognize her, and gave her an acknowledging nod. Celebarien wondered briefly why he did not speak with the woman, but told herself that Elrond's life was not her concern.
It was still not her concern when later, from her own conversation with Laicë, she saw him in close conference with the woman.
"I've forgotten her name," Celebarien said.
"She is Alda," Laicë replied with a strange, amused expression. "They seem to know one another."
"How long has she been here?"
"She was sent from Tirion not too long ago, and a better herbalist we have never had." His pale green eyes glinted. "Do you fear he is diverted?"
Celebarien stared at him, startled. "Pardon?"
But just then the servants entered with dinner and it was time to sit down to board.
Elrond called to her as she was stepping out into the foyer in Yávië's wake, and she waited for him, outwardly passive and inwardly irritated. Why did he have to be here, and seek her out? She longed for the silence of her room where she could finally be at peace.
But in that peace, she would be forced to think.
"My Lord?" she asked.
His eyes flashed. "My Lady," he said, in that dry, ironic tone that she was beginning to detest. "When were you planning to see Legolas tomorrow?"
"Early evening. Shall I send someone to you then?"
"I was hoping to pay my respects to Thranduil sometime tomorrow or the day after."
"Tuilë and I were thinking something similar," she admitted. "And Morrillë seemed restless from the journey."
"It was a highly uninteresting journey for her," he agreed. "What say you? Will you ride with me?"
"Just you and I, My Lord?" That possibility was somehow alarming, and she strove to keep it from her voice.
"Tuilë, if she wishes, and Legolas if he can be released."
"Legolas is not well enough yet, but Tuilë might find the idea of riding with you absolutely fascinating. A page of history, as it were." She almost smirked at Elrond's pained expression. "And I have been thinking to consult his own people over Legolas's problems. There surely will be insight there."
"And so my company ranks very low," he said with a patently dramatic morose look.
This was, of course, never true. She had always adored his company. It was his perceptiveness she despised, and the constant self-assessment of her own responses to him that she seemed to do when he was about. His presence drained her, for she was always on guard about him.
"It does not rank low," she said with a smile. "On the contrary."
He smiled in return, but when he moved to take her hand, she turned and in the following silence headed back up the stairs.
"Lady?"
"Yes?"
"You would tell me if there was something I could do for you?"
She paused on the stairs, her fingertips trailing the hand-carved rails, and glanced at him.
A great lord, Elrond was, and if she had not been his healer, she would never raise her head in his company, so great was he. But there were his earnest silvery eyes looking up at her, waiting on her answer, and all she could think was that she did not deserve his concern. "Do you wish the truth?" she returned.
"Of course," he answered, with a little puzzled frown that warned her that she best not press her luck tonight.
"My lord has enough cares of his own that he must not be concerned for this lowly person."
"Lady Arien!" His voice deepened when he was vexed, she now recalled. And there was the deep violet tone again to his usually blue aura.
"My lord?" she returned lightly, feeling a bit perverse.
"At some point, Lady, avoidance will no longer be a solution."
She blinked down at him. "I am most aware, My Lord." She turned. "Good night."
Just playing in Tolkien's sandbox. With his toys.
Part Two: No Matter Where She Went
She woke in a warm bed, branches swaying above her in the soft golden light of mid-morning. She lay a long while, reviewing the night before, only cursorily aware of her surroundings, a flet to herself, and a few simple but elegant pieces of furniture.
Had she truly helped her lord? Where had this sudden weariness come from?
"The sleeper awakes," a good-natured voice admonished her. She turned her head to see Yávië there, a tray in his hands. He was wearing newly washed traveling clothes of varying shades of green that set off his autumn hair perfectly. Instantly she recalled that they were moving onward to the Healers House that day.
"You should have waked me," she returned, sitting up slowly. Lethargy was in her limbs and sleep in her mind.
"You needed your rest, and I would not gainsay anything Lord Elrond tells me, and hope to escape his wrath." Yávië grinned and Celebarien tried to smile back in response. Yávië was so open and sunny, from his coloring to his personality, that he seemed to radiate his cheer before him. Celebarien could always rely on Yávië's aura, which was almost blindingly gold. "So I will make sure you take your restoratives and that you are ready before we depart."
Celebarien sighed, and took the cup Yávië handed to her as he sat on the edge of her bed. "I don't know why I am so weary," she admitted to her colleague. "It was a brief connection."
"You are tired because you did a great healing on Lord Celeborn, for which we are all grateful. There's been word from the Lady herself. His outlook has much improved."
A weight slipped from Celebarien's mind. "I am glad, though I do not know if it was my healing or his own that is to be praised."
"You are too severe on yourself," the redhead complained mildly, and took back the empty cup. "Now eat and recover yourself. I'll send up water for bathing and a new set of clothes sent over from the Lord and Lady. There is no reason for speed today, only that we should have half a day to travel is all."
"How is it that the House is so far?"
"We exchange the duties for those in attendance at court, and for emergencies. The rest of us stay quiet at the House so that our patients can have peace there, away from complications of court and city. We have hardly any injuries here, and few reasons to be immediate to the center of court. Those who come to us suffer more in mind than body."
Yávië left her, and servants brought the bathing tub, a great luxury, as if she were unable to descend to bathe like a normal person. The clothes came in as she was drying, and they were amazing, soft grays and blues, embroidered and layered, entirely complimentary to someone of her coloring. There was a circlet with a blue stone, the slender metal of which was silver and crafted into the curves of flowering vines. When at last her hair was braided properly for travel and the circlet placed just so, she was surprised to see that her weariness did not show, that the woman in the mirror looked young and unscarred, if naturally pale and perhaps too slender, a pale page to be writ upon and not the stained annals she knew her soul to be.
No matter where she went, it seemed not to touch her.
The woods deepened as they traveled south and west, and even though the forest was old, the trees bore the weight of years lightly. This was no Fangorn or Mirkwood, but Orome's Woods.
"Where did Thranduil settle?" she asked Yávië. Thranduil of Mirkwood had been one of the last of the Sindarin Quendi to finally leave the Mortal Lands, preceding his kinsman Celeborn only by a few years. However, some of people had gone on before to settle a place for his court generations before.
"They've taken the far southwestern and oldest section of Orome's Forest. Those Wood Elves are never happy unless they have ancient trees to care for, as you know. In fact, we're somewhere between Loreryn (our new Lothlorien) and Galentaur (the new Mirkwood) We get some traffic from Thranduil, but not much. He trusts to his own healers most of the time. We get the stranger or more immediate cases. One of his sons fell from a high tree not a moon ago, and we're still caring for him because it was the shorter distance to carry him."
"A month to heal? Was it that serious?"
"The wound wasn't serious at all. A gash, a broken leg.what you would expect from a bad fall. But he's not quite healed in the heart, if you know what I mean. The fall was the effect of some other problem, I think. Just the sort of thing we were hoping you'd look into."
"I'll definitely look into it," Celebarien agreed. Wood Elves were more secretive and hardier than her own people, insular to the point of xenophobia, so it was always interesting to interact with them for experience's sake. "Any other problems I can take care of?"
"You've already solved one of the more outstanding worries we had. I'd rather you concentrate on acclimating to your new home; make it comfortable; learn the terrain, so to speak. There are beautiful, sunny meadows and flowers and herbs, the river and the hills. Valar be praised."
They stopped to eat and water the horses just short of dusk by the side of the narrow road, then remounted. The land climbed a bit, until they came to a turn in the trail and Celebarien caught sight of her new home.
She did not have to ask who aided in the design. The Healers House was built high on a rock cliff between the issue of two waterfalls. Lights were glimmering in the windows and balconies. It was Imladris again, but a community that did not have to shelter in a defendable valley or hide itself. This House could be seen from down river for many leagues.
They climbed the promontory, then crossed one of the river-falls by a wide and arched stone bridge. Already there were people waiting in the courtyard to take the horses and gear, and the head healer on the steps to welcome them.
Laicë had been the Lady's head healer since the fall of Doriath; he was old and wise beyond anyone's ken, and as still as stone. His black hair was so long it would drag the ground if completely unbound, and the envy of men and maids alike. His pale green eyes were piercing and astute, and he communicated more with them than he did with voice or mind. His slow grace, stillness and beauty were a matter of pride among the healers, but in later generations he had become insular and reluctant to interface with court, delegating those duties to the younger healers and supervising the smaller, more intimate main house. There had been talk of Laicë choosing a successor for at least a hundred years, and the general consensus was that it would be Yávië, whose skills were exceptional and, more importantly, everyone respected and liked both among healers and the court that controlled them.
Laicë 's green eyes watched Celebarien's polite advance, and he raised his cool hand to her cheek in the old manner of greeting after long parting. "Finally, the last child has come," he said. "I have longed for this day."
Celebarien did not like falsehoods, even for the sake of politeness, so wisely kept silent on the subject of longing, merely nodding. Laicë's eyes would see the truth, even unsaid.
"Why are you late, Child?" he inquired. Only someone as ancient as Laicë could call her such and not sound ridiculous.
Yávië, ascending behind, said apologetically: "Celebarien was summoned to the Lord for heart healing, and we gave her time to recover this morning."
A dark brow arched. "Hardly a day passes for you in Valinor, and already you have been put to work," he commented. "I wish to hear the whole tale later. Yávië, have her shown to her rooms. We have a special dinner for the occasion planned, but it will be just as well tomorrow as tonight. Things best done cannot be rushed."
So she was shown through the palatial dimensions of the Healers House and up to her rooms. It was, like the whole, lovely. Someone had recalled her favorite colors of lavender and green in the silk covers and draperies, and she was surprised to see some of her things already set out, making her wonder if carts had gone directly from the ship, bypassing the night's delay.
"Settle in and rest," Yávië suggested. "I will speak to Laicë. There's no work that can't be put off for a bit, and you need the time."
Celebarien felt like protesting, but protesting what she wasn't sure. Resting was something she intrinsically knew she needed, but it was the last thing she wanted to do. Resting meant thinking and reflection, of time neither impacted with new complications nor filled with details to be dealt with.
She arranged her few things, explored the new space, marveling at the intricacies of the wooden desk and the supplies left inside for her. She placed her book of leaves in the top drawer. The bookshelves were nearly empty but for what she thought either Laicë or Yávië had placed there as necessary: the standard book of herb lore which was always the best reference, a new book of maps, the old worn tome of healers' lore. She found two books absolutely blank, and made of flower-embedded, handmade papers reminiscent of the work of Celeborn's bookmaker. She spent more than the necessary time turning the pages and feeling the texture the flowers and thick paper.
Later she attempted to sleep in the new, soft bed, and found to her surprise that sleep came easily and deeply.
She dreamed of Mirkwood as it had been in those later years, but when she woke she could not recall it except for a sense of unease.
There was water and restoratives by the bed, Yávië's presence still lingering, golden, in the room brightening in midday. She rose with the goblet and went out on her balcony to see what she could not see the night before.
The view below was exquisite: an orchard and graceful statuary, and in the distance a sheltered house for herbs. It was restful on the eye, much more so than the view she had imagined of the rivers and rapids roaring down to the falls. The structure had been very minutely thought out.
There was an Elf in green and brown walking aimlessly through the orchard, trailing his hands among the rough bark of the apple trees, his movements listless and awkward. From his mahogany hair and darkened aura, Celebarien guessed this was Thranduil's recuperating son. Yávië had the right of one thing; this one's true wound was to the spirit.
She heard the door open and close, and soft footsteps, but did not turn, knowing them. Laicë appeared at her side, a shadow of dark hair and emerald robes. He nodded toward the listless Elf wandering there. "That one. A difficult patient, reluctant to let go of his pain. Quite within your scope, I think."
"Yes," she replied, undaunted. It was the sort of work that had distinguished her among her colleagues , and she was not afraid of it, having left the worse work behind in a savage native land. "He has lost someone."
Laicë did not turn his head but she could tell he was surprised. "Why do you think so?"
"I just know," she said. "I've been acquainted with that sort of grief too well these past years."
"Indeed."
Celebarien turned. "I am sorry to keep you. Was there something you wanted?"
"Only to see you and speak to you," the elder replied. "And I must say that Yávië is correct; you are too worn for someone so young. It is time you rested among your kind and shirk the harder responsibilities. There are other shoulders to bear them now."
She nodded, knowing the wisdom of it, and avoided the bitter thoughts and memories of the time when her shoulders had taken the full weight of a burden immeasurable. "Give me leave alone to look into Thranduil's son, and I will be content to rest otherwise. It saddens to see one so young so darkened, particularly here."
Laicë sighed and inclined his head. "Heed yourself, lest you too be darkened by your fatigue. It does us not good if you are worn thin, when such as his lordship needs you. Elrond, too, is here, and may have need as well."
Celebarien started at the name, and recollection of the face came to her unwanted. She dared not distract herself even now with such remembrances, not if she wished to rest.
After Laicë departed, she stood still on the balcony, regarding the apple trees and the wandering Elf in their shadows. He paused, staring up. Even from a distance she saw that his eyes were a brilliant green, but they too were shadowed and haunted. She nodded politely, and after a hesitation, he returned the gesture before continuing his circular course.
She ate what was brought to her, and when the servants came in to light the fire in the hearth, she sat next to it with an empty mind. As soon as she was warmed, she retreated to the silken bed and fell deeply asleep.
The sun did not wake her until it was high in the sky. For the first time in a long while she felt as if she had not wrestled with dreams and portents, and lay a long while listening to the birdsong in the orchard outside her window and the faint backdrop of the falls.
And for the first time she was curious to know the name of the river that poured itself over the cliff, and whether there were maps of this part of the forest in that book on her shelves. Eventually these thoughts grew insistent, and she relented to get up, bathe, dress and seek out the kitchens for a bite.
The cooks guided her to the empty dining hall and brought her fresh baked bed and fruit, with cool cider to drink, and that was where Yávië found her. He sank down on the chair across from her and signaled the to cook for his own cider.
"I take it you slept well," he inquired.
"Yes. My thanks." Celebarien gave her friend a sour face. "You told Laicë on me."
"As if he doesn't have eyes of his own." The cook brought the cup and Yávië nodded his thanks, receiving a blush and a scurry.
Celebarien remarked on this only with a raised brow. Yávië, like so many healers, had never married, and what private life he did have was never on display. "I slept so well, in fact, that I've a mind to go walking a little before dinner," she announced.
Her colleague smiled. "That is a wonderful idea! Put the color in your cheeks again, we shall, and fatten you up tonight. The last and the youngest has returned, after all!"
Celebarien smiled into her cup, allowing the auburn-haired Elf's golden aura wash over her own. "Perhaps the first and not the second," she said pertly. "Is there a map of the area, or shall I find a guide?"
Yávië paused, wrinkled his brow, then smiled sunnily. "I know just the one," he said.
++++
The lone figure stood under the apple trees was much as he had the day before, and if it hadn't been for the change in apparel and the clean, combed hair, she might have thought he had not moved all night. He stirred as she neared, straightening his long form. The Elves of Mirkwood tended to not be so tall, but they were of a height.
He bowed, and the face emerging from lengths of mahogany hair was very fair, but the eyes were dull, and there was a neglected air about him that she could not place.
"Well met," she greeted. "I am Celebarien of the House of Cúthalion, out of Doriath."
"Legolas, son of Thranduil of Galentaur at your service, Lady," he replied after a minute pause, over her titles she doubted not. He was still young enough to use his paternity, she realized.
"Prince Legolas, then?" she asked with a little smile.
"A daughter of Strongbow's house might demand higher company," he said with a self-depreciating twist of the mouth, "but I would rather not use that title."
She nodded her willingness to his wishes.
"You are a healer here," he said, part question.
"I am the last, from the last ship," she agreed. "I tarried long in the Mortal Lands, and have lately come with my lord into Valinor, and thence here." At his wary look, she amended: "I am in sore need of a guide today. Of healing we need not speak, although we must speak of it in days to come."
With a resigned set of his shoulders, he nodded. "I would be happy to escort such a fine lady anywhere she wishes," he told her, his attempt at gallantry falling a little short.
"I should hope you would not be half so generous if I were half so fine," she remarked lightly as he led her from the orchard.
He laughed, startled. "Your pardon, Lady. My chivalry has seen better days."
"One can hope it will see them again in future. Now, Yávië tells me there is a meadow a little northwards."
"Indeed, I know the place."
He took her down narrow footpaths, trailing his fingertips across the bark of young trees, his head canted so his eyes watched the swaying of the branches above him. He reminded her of an awkward youth far gone. Although far from boyhood, and a veteran of the Ring War, there was some echo of how he might have been once, light-hearted and carefree.
He brought her to a meadow flowering yellow and purple in the late afternoon sun and stood with her on the edge as she gazed her fill of the warm and soul-filling sight. A small, cool breeze moved the stems and flowers like ripples across a still pond in a wave of color.
"Shall I leave you here for a time, Lady?" he asked courteously, "or do you require a companion?"
"I would not stay you if you care to be elsewhere," she murmured. "I take it you want to commune with the trees out yonder?"
He chuckled. "Just so. Shall I return within the hour and see you safely back?"
"I thank you, yes."
She did not expect to hear him go, and indeed she did not as she stood for a long while, breathing deep of a mixture of organic scents. Her nose knew many of them, even in this combination, and she thought to bring a basket next time to pick the asphodel and nephredil. Yet, she was loath to step forward, somehow, for although the beauty of the place moved her, it did not move her to joy. Instead, her chest ached with a strange mysterious regret that was melting into the realization that finally, finally here was happiness that could be tasted, tasted and savored, not shunted for a later time, not pushed away because she dare not feel it.
She could finally begin to taste joy again, she who had made a habit to subjugate all of her gladness and sorrow.
She realized that finally this place could touch her if she let it, yet she did not know if she could let anything touch her, after so long.
She did eventually walk among the flowers, breaking off a few pale nephridel for her rooms. She found a shady bower along the edge of the meadow and there she lazed for a while, letting the breeze stroke her face and the scent of flowers and wild herbs tickle her nose.
She must have just dozed when Legolas's deliberately audible step woke her, and blinking, she glanced up to find the son of Thranduil with the sun behind his head, making his hair blaze darkly red like a false corona.
"And how do you like this place?" he asked, offering her a hand.
"I like it well, although I meant not to sleep."
"I think it required, Lady, that one must experience the joy of napping in a sunny meadow," he said most seriously as they made their way back to the House. "It shows a certain disrespect to not succumb to the pleasures of nature, do you not think?"
"Exactly so," she agreed with a smile. "I have always thought so, but I think that is a philosophy inherent to the woodland realms."
"Just so. I have always thought the Sindar more advanced in that regard," he said and she had to laugh, for she, too, was Sindarin, and it had always been something of pride to be so.
The sun was setting as they climbed the steps into the House. They parted with courtesies on both sides, and she took a trip to her rooms to put the flowers in water and change into something more in keeping with a special dinner, as she was the guest of honor.
She noted wryly that there were more gowns in her closet than had been earlier that day, and they all seemed to echo the colors of the dress she had received from the Lord and Lady except one or two. She favored the slender periwinkle gown she found in the midst of the sea of gray and blue, and tried it on in front of a newly arrived mirror. She approved of the trailing sleeves and long row of laces down the front that flattered her waistline and diverted the eyes from the boyishness of her figure.
She drew a deep breath and entered the hall, nodding politely to the assembled healers there, familiar and unfamiliar alike. Yávië saw her and took charge, beginning the rounds of introduction and re-acquaintance. There was a strange wary curiosity in the eyes of several of the younger ones, and she wondered what sort of hierarchy she was disturbing to create such a reaction. She pushed aside these thoughts and made an effort to appear friendlier than she felt, knowing that she often made the impression of cool disdain among strangers.
At last, they were allowed to sit and be served. She sat at Laicë's left, with Yávië on his right, which only reinforced the impression that Yávië would one day be head healer. This impression was furthered when Yávië made the opening toast in the more retiring Laicë's stead.
There was the more nourishing fowl and a bit of venison brought in by Galadhrim hunters who provided for all of the Lord and Lady's subjects. The bread was fresh from the ovens and redolent with fresh herbs. All manner of drink went about, wines and ales and the heavier, cloying meads favored by Thranduil's folk. All imbibed to their taste. As was traditional, there was gift giving involved in the arrival of a healer, new or not, and of this Celebarien had forgotten. It had seemed a long while since last she had lived among her peers, and the established ceremonies had slipped her mind. She came to realize, as her colleagues gave her little things for her welcome, that she had become a symbol representing the end of an era. No longer would her people gaze East in expectation. Now their gaze was at last completely inward.
Traditionally, the gifts were small, usually handcrafted or made by the gifts of the giver. They were meant to be practical, so there were baskets of dried flowers, jars of scented unguents, a bracelet of small translucent river stones, a small, copied book of herbal remedies, a woven cloth belt tasseled in a rainbow of pale colors, a jar of lavender ink, a curved small knife, and a number of thin silver rings. Each gift was meant to reflect the skills of the giver, and by this Celebarien learned the talents of her peers. Yávië came forward with an intricate hair clasp. Laicë's gift was a bow of the Galadhrim design, inlaid in gold. Celebarien, who had left her own worn bow behind, was thankful for this gift, although she suspected that Laicë meant it to be symbolic of her house.
It was at last time for her to say the closing words, and for a dread moment she did not know what to say, she who had been used to solitude for so long. But she took solace in her own honest manner and, standing, said: "I was long tarrying in the Mortal Lands, true; forgive me if I have forgotten how to be among civilized folk." This earned a surprised laugh. "I give myself over to your kind indulgence, for am like a child again in a new home. In return, I hope to be of use and make of myself a diligent servant. To you, my teachers." And she saluted them with the remnants of her wine.
There was a polite reciprocation, and the diners began to move off to their own pursuits. Laicë excused himself, and Yávië slipped off to coordinate the clean up, leaving Celebarien at last to her own devices.
As Celebarien began to gather her gifts, one of the musicians who had been playing in upper balcony approached, a lap-harp under her arm. She was extraordinarily young, long-limbed and coltish, her dark brown hair plaited with a multitude of beaded and ribboned braids. Her eyes, however, were a familiar blue, the Teleri blue Celebarien saw in her own reflection daily.
"I am Tuilë," she said, bowing. "I believe I am your cousin."
After seeing those eyes, Celebarien was hardly surprised. "Ah, in what way do you think so?"
"The stablemaster at Loreryn once told me I had a cousin-healer who kept her stock with him, who was the daughter of Beleg. I am the great-grand- daughter of Brethil, who was brother to the sire of Cúthalion."
Celebarien tried to mentally track that, and found that, indeed, they were related to some degree. "Well met, Cousin," she said happily. "I beg your pardon for questioning the connection. I am not in the habit of being in the company of family."
"No need to apologize! I would wonder at it if a stranger introduced herself as a relation, myself!"
"A musician, are you? A healer?"
"Healer's apprentice," Tuilë amended. "Harper on the side, so to speak. It whiles away the time. That, and horses."
Celebarien smiled. "Then indeed you are my cousin in more ways than one!"
"Ay, I've heard you were as horse-mad in your day as I am now," the younger agreed. "You used to train them up."
"Yes, when I had the time," Celebarien replied, "before things got.complicated."
"Do you mean the work in the Mortal Lands? But that is over, is it not? Will you train again? I should so like to learn it from you. No one trains them Sindar-style as our family once did, and the older horses are starting to fade. There's only the one or two from your training left, brought over on earlier ships, and they are prized like gold in the Galadhrim stables."
Celebarien felt her brows rising further and further at this. "Are they? I did not know. Then I suppose asking to have Morrillë back might be a struggle."
"Your black mare? Is she living still? She made the crossing? Oh, please do recall her here!"
Celebarien shook her head. "What is here for a spirited Sindar steed? She is easily wearied by lack of excitement and company. Better to be busy in the greater stables than to be exiled in this quiet place."
Tuilë's disappointment was easily read, young as she was. "Oh, please reconsider! You shall not be so busy here with duties, and will have more time for such things as horses. There is Thranduil's Galentaur and the Lord and Lady's Loreryn to ride to."
These younger ones, Celebarien mused, looking into the young, emotional face. Tuilë's excitement made her feel every year of her life. There was a mighty gap between Celebarien's pre-cataclysm generation and the later generations of Legolas and Tuilë, although the older Elves called Celebarien "young" as easily as Tuilë. Despite that gap of time, there were few generations of children between. Elves did not breed prolifically in times of war and upheaval. Celebarien's generation had been the last great generation between the fall of Doriath and the rise of Gil-galad.
There was a lightness of personality in the later generations that Celebarien's did not understand. Perhaps the certainty of returning to Valinor, implicit in the characters of the young ones had gifted them that lightness. In Celebarien's generation, there was always an uncertainty about the future.
"Cousin," she said after a long moment, "I will reconsider on your behalf."
It was almost a reward to see a bright smile in response.
She found Legolas in the orchard, but this time neither of them pretended it was a merely social occasion. They found a shady place in soft grass and there Celebarien looked into his eyes, for the first time in the purpose of healing.
"You have lost someone," she said, confirming the first impression once again. "It does not allow you to mend." The Sindarin prince's startled glance was as obvious as a shout, and Celebarien knew that she had been correct. "Tell me of this person."
Legolas shrugged, but his eyes were dark and weary. "No one has died."
"But the friendship is lost, nonetheless," she replied, "and immoderately you grieve. In your heart, you grieve."
Legolas's mouth trembled and his head sunk lower, as if a great weight were settling over his neck and shoulders.
"Can you not retrieve--?"
"It is not possible."
"Surely--?"
"It is not possible, Healer!" Shadowed green eyes snapped at her in sudden fury. "You do not know of what you speak!"
And with that, the Sindar was on his feet and striding away.
Celebarien sat for a long while, reviewing the words, wondering how she could have given offense. It was not, she surmised, her own limitations this time. It was his.
Laicë was not surprised when she reported to the head healer that afternoon in the study where Laicë kept court.
"Even your famous talents will be challenged," he said. "This is a young and stubborn creature, not used to divulging what he wishes not to." At her look, he sighed understandingly. "That does not ease your own feelings of disquiet, I know. Try again in a few days. Let him think on things. These young ones need more time to reflect than the older generations."
"So I understand," Celebarien replied, thinking of Tuilë. "Speaking of which, how shall I send to Loreryn for my mount? Tuilë and I have been thinking it would do me good to go riding, and I would prefer a Cúthalion- trained steed if I am to make a habit of it."
"It is a fine idea," Laicë agreed. "There are daily messengers to and from court. Send a missive addressed to your family, and it will find its way there." The head healer showed her where messages were left for delivery.
Celebarien wrote a letter to the stable master. She spent the rest of the day looking over maps of the area, and later discussing them with Tuilë, who had been adventurously exploring when duty permitted, but who had concentrated on the northern parts of the forest.
"Is Thranduil friendly enough to allow explorations to the southwest? I should like to consult with the prince's people for insight."
Her cousin shrugged. "They won't shoot at us, at least, and it shall be an adventure."
"It shall at that."
It took two days for the arrival of Morrillë. Elven steeds came and went at will, so she could not count that the mare would be at the stables where the messenger told her she was left there. She was happy, therefore, to see black Morrillë running the length of the fenced grazing yard, scrutinizing her new home. Celebarien whistled and the mare turned, and trotted over, ducking her proud head to be scratched.
"I am sorry for the tiresome journey, my friend," Celebarien murmured. "I have need of you here. Is it not a pretty place?"
Morrillë blew against her fingers, nodding, and rolled a wry eye toward the stables where Celebarien saw a few horses' heads peaking curiously from the wide door. One of them was Tuilë's chestnut stallion, Aduial. "That one? He's a fine fellow, though I'm not sure he's your type. He's still on the green side. Still, you'll be much in company, so it doesn't hurt to get acquainted."
Morrillë nodded against her hand, and turning, sped across the field.
"She is, as always, the finest," said a deep and familiar voice behind her. It sent a shiver of alarm down her back at its unexpectedness. It must be alarm, she told herself. Slowly she turned, blinking at Elrond Peredhel.
"My lord," she said, thinking that her smile might be a trifle forced.
"I wanted to present Morrillë to you, but Laicë got to me first," the former lord of Imladris explained on the way back to the house.
Celebarien glanced at him surreptitiously. He seemed at ease and casual in his thin linen shirt and leather riding clothes. His glossy, black hair was braided in a thick cable for the journey. He hardly seemed the self contained and sophisticated lord she knew. This was confirmed by his aura, which instead of being a wave of calm blue, was sparking a deep violet- indigo. She wondered at that. Why was he agitated?
"You brought her? Then I am in your debt, although I cannot see that it is worth your time to deliver a horse to the House of Healing."
"It is worth my time that I was bringing her to you, Lady," he said, in that way of his that said he was not being gallant, just truthful. "To be honest, I have other business here."
"Is that so? Then my guilt is assuaged. I would not be the one who took you from those who need you."
His smile flashed, silver-gray eyes crinkling. "You value yourself less than you should," he said. "To be truthful, you are the reason I am here."
"Oh?" She dared not show her face to his penetrating glance. "I am flattered."
"Your tone says not."
She did not know how to reply to that.
"Laicë has asked my opinion concerning Legolas, which in turn I hope will help you," he continued. "Laicë is also concerned for your health, and I can see why."
"This conspiracy grows every day," she commented.
"Are you saying we should not be concerned? I remember the past, Lady. You were never this retiring."
No, she thought. I wanted always to be moving, to be doing.and look at what that brought me! "I live among a community of healers, My Lord. What do you hope to see that they cannot?"
He stopped, forcing her to halt as well out of courtesy's sake. His piercing eyes studied her, and she presented him with the face of one whom has long shielded her inner self from others. "What do I hope to see? That is an interesting question, Lady Arien, which begs others: why are you concerned about what I see? What are you hiding?"
The flash of irritation she felt was more for herself than for him. She should have thought more carefully before she opened her mouth. "As ever, you are too keen, My Lord."
He seemed to want to respond to that, but they were interrupted by the running figure of Tuilë, braids and ribbons flying as she leapt down the stairs. "Celebarien!" She realized her mistake as she hit the last step and looked directly at her cousin, taking in the figure standing next to her. "My apologies. You have company."
Thank you, Tuilë! Celebarien sighed internally. "My Lord Elrond, this is my cousin, Tuilë. Tuilë, this is Lord Elrond of Im- your pardon, Loreryn."
Tuilë's bright, curious examination at the peredhel confirmed Celebarien's suspicion that her private life was very much a matter of speculation.
"A pleasure," Elrond said with a small bow.
"The pleasure is entirely mine," Tuilë returned with a small bow of her own and a smile. "You are not the same Elrond of the history books, then? The herald of Gil-Galad?"
Celebarien almost winced. The sorrows of older Elves meant little to the younger, she knew, but Elrond's history was full of heartache and misery; not the sort of thing one mentioned in casual conversation.
"Sadly, I am, Lady," the peredhel said.
"Oh, that is grand! I did not know my cousin knew such an auspicious person. She surprises me every day."
Elrond turned a wry eye on Celebarien. "In that, Lady, we are not so different."
"Was there something you wanted?" Celebarien asked Tuilë quickly.
"I've heard Morrillë was here. I wanted to -" Tuilë made an aborted gesture toward the field.
"By all means. She was running the pasture fence a moment ago and giving Aduial the eye."
"She moves fast, then. Unlike her mistress," Tuilë laughed, and took off like a shot before Celebarien could protest.
"Filly," she grumbled and Elrond laughed.
"I take it she is horse-crazy like many of the line?"
"Doubtless. She and I will be riding out together, now that Morrillë is here."
"I am glad of it."
Apparently he though it would be good for her health, she thought resentfully, but she held her tongue, aware that she had already revealed too much of herself to him.
"I would like to see Legolas sometime tomorrow, if possible," he said.
"I would be happy to allow it. I was to speak again with him, anyway."
"I hear the first attempt was not so satisfactory."
Celebarien sighed. "Indeed. It is rare that a patient runs from me."
Elrond's brows rose. "What was said that caused such a reaction?"
"I had determined that his ailment is more of the heart than body. He has lost a friend. I asked if he might retrieve the friendship. When he said it was impossible, I questioned him. He fled."
The lord frowned. "Then indeed you were correct; the lost of the friend is the cause of his fall and slow recovery."
"I fear so."
"How long did it take to ascertain this cause?"
"For me? A moment."
He laughed softly. "I am not the only keen one here," he said at her questioning glance. "This has been a mystery ailment for a while now among the healers, and a mere moment is all it takes for you to understand it."
"I have had .some experience with this sort of problem."
She avoided his quick look.
"I imagine so," was all he said.
It was not a large dinner, the reception Laicë had arranged for the favorable guest . So when Celebarien entered the smaller eating hall, there were only half a dozen others. She made her obeisance to Laicë and Elrond, noticing that he had let his hair down and had changed into the velvet robes she remembered. It was not something she wanted to linger on, but the observation stayed with her longer than she wished, sitting uncomfortably over their earlier conversation of the day, like too sweet candy on a restless stomach.
She had little appetite but forced herself to more than pick at her food when Yávië's glance told her she was not fooling him. The two others at table were Laicë's steward and the herbal master, a quiet woman she remembered vaguely from the night before because of the flowers she wore in her hair.
Elrond seemed to recognize her, and gave her an acknowledging nod. Celebarien wondered briefly why he did not speak with the woman, but told herself that Elrond's life was not her concern.
It was still not her concern when later, from her own conversation with Laicë, she saw him in close conference with the woman.
"I've forgotten her name," Celebarien said.
"She is Alda," Laicë replied with a strange, amused expression. "They seem to know one another."
"How long has she been here?"
"She was sent from Tirion not too long ago, and a better herbalist we have never had." His pale green eyes glinted. "Do you fear he is diverted?"
Celebarien stared at him, startled. "Pardon?"
But just then the servants entered with dinner and it was time to sit down to board.
Elrond called to her as she was stepping out into the foyer in Yávië's wake, and she waited for him, outwardly passive and inwardly irritated. Why did he have to be here, and seek her out? She longed for the silence of her room where she could finally be at peace.
But in that peace, she would be forced to think.
"My Lord?" she asked.
His eyes flashed. "My Lady," he said, in that dry, ironic tone that she was beginning to detest. "When were you planning to see Legolas tomorrow?"
"Early evening. Shall I send someone to you then?"
"I was hoping to pay my respects to Thranduil sometime tomorrow or the day after."
"Tuilë and I were thinking something similar," she admitted. "And Morrillë seemed restless from the journey."
"It was a highly uninteresting journey for her," he agreed. "What say you? Will you ride with me?"
"Just you and I, My Lord?" That possibility was somehow alarming, and she strove to keep it from her voice.
"Tuilë, if she wishes, and Legolas if he can be released."
"Legolas is not well enough yet, but Tuilë might find the idea of riding with you absolutely fascinating. A page of history, as it were." She almost smirked at Elrond's pained expression. "And I have been thinking to consult his own people over Legolas's problems. There surely will be insight there."
"And so my company ranks very low," he said with a patently dramatic morose look.
This was, of course, never true. She had always adored his company. It was his perceptiveness she despised, and the constant self-assessment of her own responses to him that she seemed to do when he was about. His presence drained her, for she was always on guard about him.
"It does not rank low," she said with a smile. "On the contrary."
He smiled in return, but when he moved to take her hand, she turned and in the following silence headed back up the stairs.
"Lady?"
"Yes?"
"You would tell me if there was something I could do for you?"
She paused on the stairs, her fingertips trailing the hand-carved rails, and glanced at him.
A great lord, Elrond was, and if she had not been his healer, she would never raise her head in his company, so great was he. But there were his earnest silvery eyes looking up at her, waiting on her answer, and all she could think was that she did not deserve his concern. "Do you wish the truth?" she returned.
"Of course," he answered, with a little puzzled frown that warned her that she best not press her luck tonight.
"My lord has enough cares of his own that he must not be concerned for this lowly person."
"Lady Arien!" His voice deepened when he was vexed, she now recalled. And there was the deep violet tone again to his usually blue aura.
"My lord?" she returned lightly, feeling a bit perverse.
"At some point, Lady, avoidance will no longer be a solution."
She blinked down at him. "I am most aware, My Lord." She turned. "Good night."