Elrond stalked across the hall, his formal robes billowing out behind him, and up the stairs to his private quarters. The few elves he encountered moved wisely out of his way. When he was in that mood the Eyebrow of Doom boded well for no one. Entering, he pulled off his formal head dress and threw it on the desk near the window. He paced angrily back and forth releasing the anger he had contained so tightly throughout the day.
"The fools, the damned fools, how could they be so oblivious, so obtuse, so....," he exploded through gritted teeth.
An errant breeze entered the room carrying the sweet smell of the early flowers of echuir and the sound of soft rushing water from the nearby falls. Elrond stopped pacing and lifted his face to savor it. How he loved this sanctuary of Imladris! Sometimes it seemed the only reason he retained his sanity was because he was here in its peaceful world. Leaving his sitting room he went onto the balcony that ran the width of his rooms. Placing his hands on the railing he leaned forward and gazed down at his private garden below. Slowly he felt his shoulders relax.
It was the only physical memory beyond their children that remained here of his wife, Celebrian. Although their marriage had been arranged and not a love match, they had grown to like and respect each other over time. She had spent the early years of their marriage creating the garden and later their three children had played there. Sadly, after the vicious yrch attack that had injured her, he was able to heal her body but not her spirit. She lost interest in life, their marriage, her children and the garden she loved. She had finally come to him and asked to be released from their marriage. In despair for his failure, he agreed and she left for the Western Lands shortly thereafter. He hoped she found healing and true happiness there. The Valar certainly knew he had found little. He turned back into his rooms, as a house elf entered with a bottle of red wine and a plate filled with food.
"Lord Elrond, Master Gandalf sent this up for you. He said you were too tired to eat in the dining room this evening."
"He means I am in no mood for anyone to associate with," Elrond said wryly. "Thank him for his concern."
The elf chuckled as he closed the door, "I will my lord."
Pouring himself a glass of the wine he settled into a comfortable chair near the window and thought back over the days' events. The meetings had not gone well that afternoon. He could not afford to give an inch! He damn well would not give an inch! There was too much at stake for the future of Middle Earth. Some kind of action would have to be taken to curb the evil growing in Dol Guldor where Sauron masquerading under the guise of Necromancer was spreading his power. Why no one seems to see the danger was beyond him. It was so damned obvious. He sighed and shrugged. Tomorrow he would have to approach the problem from another angle.
And then there was Gandalf!. What was the old one up to now? What had
caused his amusement? A simple request for refuge was hardly a reason for amusement.
Certainly he would welcome the grand-daughter of old friends to the valley. And having the talented artisans of Bar-Meneg-Mir-Lain relocated here would be much welcomed and enrich the reputation of the Last Homely House, not place an additional strain on it. Their usual traumatized refugee required significant support to help recover before they were able to move into the community.
There would be no problem in finding good workspace and housing for the twenty-five or so artisans and their families that would be coming with her, either. Imladris had her own losses, too, with the departure of elves to the Western Lands. There are a number of empty buildings, he paused his mental dialogue. Erestor would know where best to locate them once he saw what the various families makeup were and how they wanted to set up the workshops.
Rubbing his tired eyes, he picked at the food and filled the glass a second time. A hot bath and bed suddenly sounded like a very good idea. Taking the bottle of wine and his filled glass he slowly walked through the bedroom to the bathing chamber beyond. Putting them down on a small table, he began filling the oversized tub. As it filled, he undressed, placing his outer robes near the door on a chair and the others in the basket to be laundered. He removed the combs and fasteners from his hair and undid his braids, combing them loose with his fingers. Picking up the glass of wine the elf lord sank into the steaming tub, the water soothing his tensions away. He sighed in relief, closed his eyes and laid back, his hair spilling over the edge. He was looking forward to his bed and sleep.
Bar-Meneg-Mir-Lain -house of a thousand jewelled threads
echuir-a season, the beginning of spring
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.