Transmitting; the final chapter.
This is the last chapter of Transmitting. Thanks to wiseheartfor organising thepicowrimo session for July which spurred me on!
There are still stories to tell, so this is not the end of the Returnverse - but it is the right place to end this one. Thanks as always to speakr2customrs for the beta, and being there if I need to talk things through.
Transmitting, Chapter Nineteen; Saying Farewell.
2,815 words.
It was not a bad way to say farewell, Elrohir thought. Farewell to Imladris, farewell to the only home he had ever known.
But he realised that although he had told Tindómë, years ago, that he and his brother were ‘like the trees, deeply rooted in our own soil,’ it was not going to be the wrench he had thought, it really did not feel as if being pulled up by the roots would be the death of them.
But rather, as Legolas once tried to explain when discussing some of the finer points of forestry, carefully loosening the soil around the roots at the right season and leaving the rootball intact and not totally bare, would result in a tree that could flourish and begin to grow and strengthen when the place it had been no longer sustained it properly or gave it room to grow, and would, in time slowly stunt it more and more.
This was the right season, and they had carefully loosened their ties, and would travel with enough of their most loved possessions and their remaining family (M’kay, as Tindómë would say, actually this meant their Grandfather), and with friends, so that they did not feel alone, bare-rooted.
He faced the early morning sun and thought he could just see the last trace of Grandfather Eärendil’s ship leading the way; a new dawn for a new adventure for Elladan and himself, seeking a new home, a new life, where they could flourish again, with more of their friends, and so much more of their family.
In his imagination, in the past, he had thought that, should such a moment arrive, they would leave the valley singing a slightly melancholy song. The reality was very different.
The party began to fall in behind the twin lords as they moved out of the outer courtyard, their path lined by the families of the Men of the North who now lived in the valley, and they found themselves being clapped along the route, wished well, even given posies of flowers. The latter he twisted into his mount’s mane so that, by the time they reached the final families, both he and Elladan looked as if they were Rohirric bridegrooms, and Grandfather and Glorfindel looked much the same.
Further back, in what had become more a light-hearted cavalcade than a sombre procession, he could see even Sérëdhiel’s solemn black mare was flower bedecked, as was the equally solemn horse beside her that carried Sérëdhiel’s precious tools and those volumes too treasured to be further away than her arm’s length.
All in all, Elrohir thought again, it was not a bad way to say farewell.
Now to look forward to weeks of camping; even that might be something of a pleasure simply because it was so long since they had set up tents, night after night, and cooked on campfires. Not, he thought, that he would end up doing much cooking as the last two cooks from Imladris travelled with them.
Two weeks into the journey and camping had become almost humdrum. Everyone had their assigned tasks, the weather was holding well… and not one mortal had spoken to them after the first day or two.
They had not worried about any attack on their company, but if they met other travellers on their way the men moved well away and avoided them. If they passed near a village then, almost always, as soon as they were spotted the women hurried the children into the houses and the men stood stern faced until they had all passed by. By this point this no longer surprised them at all. They wondered if any of those children would ever say, in the future, that they saw some of the last elves leaving their world.
By now Elrohir found himself looking forward not back. To welcomes not farewells. Unlike Adar he had never met the famous, bearded, Cirdan. He had seen the sea at Dol Amroth, but he and Elladan had felt it safer for their peace of mind to not approach The Havens on that occasion. So it would be a new experience to meet this legendary ellon, and see the great shipyard and harbour. He found himself looking forward with anticipation.
To save the journey becoming boring some of the party speculated about what may lie further ahead for them, when they reached Valinor. Wagers were being made.
Would Legolas have met some Noldorin elleth and married? Here the twins felt they had inside information for they were aware of the nascent attraction between him and Ithilienne before the Heart of Eryn Ithil sailed. And they were sure the two of them would not have wed yet; it had not seemed to be a swept-off-their-feet sort of relationship, more one that was developing slowly. Also, Ithilienne had only mentioned that the room their parents had readied for Elrohir was being ‘borrowed’ by Legolas, when she had spoken to them on their dream-path. And there was little to win by choosing ‘No’ in this particular wager!
Would there be any new elflings? Elrohir was aware that one or two people had money on Elladan and himself finding they had a new sibling or two. He had wondered about the possibility occasionally in the past, if Adar and Naneth had been reunited when Adar sailed. But thought the pain of losing Arwen would still be too fresh; having another elfling would have seemed too much like replacing Arwen and, they realised, perhaps expecting to replace themselves. And, again, Ithilienne had shown them Naneth with Adar - no sign of any elfling!
Would Glorfindel be met by his mother, or even a long-lost, unmentioned, wife? Probably neither, Elrohir thought.
Would Grandmother deign to meet Grandfather, or be so angry with him for taking so long to join her that she refused to even talk to him? She would be there, Elrohir was sure - but she would probably show little emotion in public. She might, though, take him somewhere private and neither would be seen for at least a week…
When The Havens of Mithlond came into view Elrohir felt, rather than trepidation as he had expected, a great desire to get on board a ship and set sail into the sunset.
……………………………………
It was not a bad way to say farewell, Thranduil thought. Farewell to this forest that had been his home through good and bad since he came here with his father in the Second Age.
He remembered when he had first arrived; a young warrior in his Adar’s entourage as they travelled from Lindon in search of a new home and a new people. Then they had not been sure of their destination nor of what sort of welcome they might find. This new relocation was, if he was being honest with himself, going to be less of a step into the unknown than that one had been.
This time, thanks to the young elleth who would in time, he was sure, become his law-daughter, he knew that his wife, his younger son, his grandchildren and even, it seemed, his father, awaited him, and his older son and law-daughter would travel with him. Not only did he know who would be there waiting for him, but he also knew there were virgin forests; he could almost hear them calling out to his fëa from over the Sundering Sea so great was his feeling that they were his trees, waiting for him in his new land.
He looked with pride at his older son where he sat across the clearing in the centre of the small village where they would sleep tonight. Ardoron was accompanying him on this expedition to also say his personal farewells to all those villagers who would remain when their royal family left. And it was clear that his son had spoken nothing but the truth when he said that he could have told Thranduil the name of every village leader, should he want to know. For in each village Ardoron was greeted by name, with friendship and respect, and introduced the village elders to their King; a king, Thranduil admitted to himself, that many had not seen in years.
Yes, Thranduil thought, he had two sons to be very, very, proud of - and it would be good to see them together again.
It would not be that long. The first messengers he had sent to Mithlond had returned to say that Cirdan’s folk were currently building two new ships for those who were leaving Imladris, but they were already more than half ready.
Once those were sea-worthy they would be moved from the dry-docks for fitting out, and the ship-builders would begin to build the vessels that would be needed for those who would sail with Thranduil. There was already wood seasoning that would form the keels, ribs, and planking, and they would begin to harvest wood to form decks and superstructure straight away. All they needed was an estimate of numbers and amount of baggage, to ensure there would be enough ships of sufficient size in the fleet. Fleet! There was going to be a large fleet because Cirdan had decided the time had now come for his own folk to head over the sea. These would be the last ships built at The Havens.
Five years, the messengers had said. All would be ready, no matter how many were sailing, in five years. And already, almost one of those years had flown by; time was a fast-moving river now. The small group who had now left to take Cirdan his facts and figures would not return, they could help with the ship-building, and learn how to help the sailors.
The first messengers, on their return, had said the route was safe, but wearying, for the trees and the land no longer spoke to them, and the mortals they met had turned aside and hardly spoke. They were not sure whether the men even realised that the travellers were elves.
But, Thranduil thought, when he and all those who would travel with him made this journey there would be no mistaking who they were; no-one would turn aside and ignore them. For when the time came, as it would so quickly now, he would ride at the head of the column, crowned and bejewelled; beside him his son and law-daughter would match his splendour, and above his head would fly the standard of his house. Behind him all would wear their best and carry their bows and swords; no mortal along their route would ever forget that they had seen the last Elven King leaving Middle Earth.
…………………………………..
It was not a bad way to say farewell, Gimli thought. Not that he expected to be leaving in the next day or two, of course.
But to have a warm and comfortable home, even though it was a hobbit hole rather than deep in a mountain, with one of the best healers ever known to provide medicines and liniments to keep him moving and in little pain, and all those he held dear (who were still alive) near at hand… No, it was not a bad way to say farewell.
But oh what things he had seen and done! Both he and his axe had done their bit to help rid Middle Earth of the evils of Sauron, and he was probably the first dwarf since Narvi to claim an elf as a good friend. He had founded the dwarven city of Aglarond, and been a friend to two human kings, three when you included Elfwine, four even, when you added in Eldarion, although he had not known him as a king for longer than it took Legolas to build the Heart of Eryn Ithil.
And here he was now. Almost certainly the oldest dwarf who ever lived. The only dwarf to have sailed across the Great Sea, allowed to follow the straight way. The only dwarf to meet Mahal himself (or Lord Aulë as he had learnt to call him here). The only dwarf to be promised that, when he died, his body would lie entombed at the doorway to Lord Aulë’s forge.
Where he sat in his comfortable chair outside the hobbit hole, so that he could see all the comings and goings, the spring sunshine felt good. This, he knew, was where he would now see every change of season to come until his last breath, no more adventures now for this old dwarf. But he had seen the arrival of spring on mountains that had not only never been seen before by a dwarf, but no elves had seen them before either. He had seen the melt water flow down newly discovered rivers, eaten fish from deep clear lakes, and seen the lands where Her Ladyship and his lads would make their homes.
He puffed contentedly on his pipe; the pipe-weed good old Gandalf had supplied was some of the best Gimli had ever smoked. The wizard visited often, and they talked of old times. In fact he was rarely alone. Even when they had first returned from their journey (via a quieter route that had avoided Tirion) and Legolas had spent much of his time with young Ithilienne, and his mother, his nephew and his niece, of course, Tindómë and her husband kept him company, as did Master Elrond and his lady wife. Both so happy to tell him that they had letters from their sons and expected them to arrive soon.
He thought he might still be here to see the twins again. He had heard about the years they had spent trying to take revenge for the terrible things done to their mother by the rhuks, and had seen them wield their swords in the battle at the Black Gate. But he had seen them also as healers, and heard them teasing Tindómë; they were, like all elves he supposed, complex creatures and it would be good to see them with their mother again, at last.
And Gimli wanted, too, to see Her Ladyship reunited with her husband. She would, he thought, need the strength His Lordship gave her, to make their new home in those distant forests. Yes, he thought, he hoped he would be here when the inhabitants of Rivendell arrived.
Legolas, Gimli smiled to himself, had probably seen a good deal less of his niece than of his nephew when they had returned here to Alqualondë, for he had heard the jests about how long it might take young Haldirin to persuade her to take a ribbon for every solstice celebration since they had last seen each other. And whilst such was not the way of dwarves, he knew enough of elves, after all these years, to think the lad might need hearty meals, or miruvor and lembas, for some months to come…
Of course Tharhîwon lived here in the hobbit hole and saw that Gimli was not alone at night; there was room for Nithdur to stay when it suited them. He was content that he had done as Frodo had asked, and kept an eye on the lad. It had been a pleasure to have Tharhîwon as his last apprentice, and now he had arranged that Naltatamë and Tisirion, the smith who had worked in Rivendell and reforged Aragorn’s sword, would see the lad through to his mastery. Lord Aulë, too, had sent word that, when Gimli died, Tharhîwon would be welcomed to his forge as well.
Aye, both his lads had happy futures plotted out. And Gimli knew, though few others did, that the Elven King was also on his way. For Legolas had explained to him that Ithilienne had a gift that let her sometimes touch others’ dreams, and so Thranduil knew now that his lady wife, and an almost infinite forest, awaited him here, and he had even been able to tell the wee lass that he was getting ready to sail.
It would be good for Legolas to have his father here, and to be able to show him the land beyond the mountains. Although, to bring so many here might take more time than Gimli had left, he thought. Still, looking forward to seeing his mother and father reunited would keep Legolas from grieving if that should be how it was.
All in all, Gimli thought, this was not a bad time to prepare to say farewell, to prepare to leave this old body to join his father and his friends in what, he thought, would be an unimaginably great glittering, rock hewn, hall. And oh what tales he had to share…
Perhaps he might meet Aragorn and Frodo, there… and Sam, Merry and Pippin… even Boromir. It would be good to talk to them all again.
But not just yet.
…………………
Rhuks - dwarvish for orcs.
There are still stories to tell, so this is not the end of the Returnverse - but it is the right place to end this one. Thanks as always to speakr2customrs for the beta, and being there if I need to talk things through.
Transmitting, Chapter Nineteen; Saying Farewell.
2,815 words.
It was not a bad way to say farewell, Elrohir thought. Farewell to Imladris, farewell to the only home he had ever known.
But he realised that although he had told Tindómë, years ago, that he and his brother were ‘like the trees, deeply rooted in our own soil,’ it was not going to be the wrench he had thought, it really did not feel as if being pulled up by the roots would be the death of them.
But rather, as Legolas once tried to explain when discussing some of the finer points of forestry, carefully loosening the soil around the roots at the right season and leaving the rootball intact and not totally bare, would result in a tree that could flourish and begin to grow and strengthen when the place it had been no longer sustained it properly or gave it room to grow, and would, in time slowly stunt it more and more.
This was the right season, and they had carefully loosened their ties, and would travel with enough of their most loved possessions and their remaining family (M’kay, as Tindómë would say, actually this meant their Grandfather), and with friends, so that they did not feel alone, bare-rooted.
He faced the early morning sun and thought he could just see the last trace of Grandfather Eärendil’s ship leading the way; a new dawn for a new adventure for Elladan and himself, seeking a new home, a new life, where they could flourish again, with more of their friends, and so much more of their family.
In his imagination, in the past, he had thought that, should such a moment arrive, they would leave the valley singing a slightly melancholy song. The reality was very different.
The party began to fall in behind the twin lords as they moved out of the outer courtyard, their path lined by the families of the Men of the North who now lived in the valley, and they found themselves being clapped along the route, wished well, even given posies of flowers. The latter he twisted into his mount’s mane so that, by the time they reached the final families, both he and Elladan looked as if they were Rohirric bridegrooms, and Grandfather and Glorfindel looked much the same.
Further back, in what had become more a light-hearted cavalcade than a sombre procession, he could see even Sérëdhiel’s solemn black mare was flower bedecked, as was the equally solemn horse beside her that carried Sérëdhiel’s precious tools and those volumes too treasured to be further away than her arm’s length.
All in all, Elrohir thought again, it was not a bad way to say farewell.
Now to look forward to weeks of camping; even that might be something of a pleasure simply because it was so long since they had set up tents, night after night, and cooked on campfires. Not, he thought, that he would end up doing much cooking as the last two cooks from Imladris travelled with them.
Two weeks into the journey and camping had become almost humdrum. Everyone had their assigned tasks, the weather was holding well… and not one mortal had spoken to them after the first day or two.
They had not worried about any attack on their company, but if they met other travellers on their way the men moved well away and avoided them. If they passed near a village then, almost always, as soon as they were spotted the women hurried the children into the houses and the men stood stern faced until they had all passed by. By this point this no longer surprised them at all. They wondered if any of those children would ever say, in the future, that they saw some of the last elves leaving their world.
By now Elrohir found himself looking forward not back. To welcomes not farewells. Unlike Adar he had never met the famous, bearded, Cirdan. He had seen the sea at Dol Amroth, but he and Elladan had felt it safer for their peace of mind to not approach The Havens on that occasion. So it would be a new experience to meet this legendary ellon, and see the great shipyard and harbour. He found himself looking forward with anticipation.
To save the journey becoming boring some of the party speculated about what may lie further ahead for them, when they reached Valinor. Wagers were being made.
Would Legolas have met some Noldorin elleth and married? Here the twins felt they had inside information for they were aware of the nascent attraction between him and Ithilienne before the Heart of Eryn Ithil sailed. And they were sure the two of them would not have wed yet; it had not seemed to be a swept-off-their-feet sort of relationship, more one that was developing slowly. Also, Ithilienne had only mentioned that the room their parents had readied for Elrohir was being ‘borrowed’ by Legolas, when she had spoken to them on their dream-path. And there was little to win by choosing ‘No’ in this particular wager!
Would there be any new elflings? Elrohir was aware that one or two people had money on Elladan and himself finding they had a new sibling or two. He had wondered about the possibility occasionally in the past, if Adar and Naneth had been reunited when Adar sailed. But thought the pain of losing Arwen would still be too fresh; having another elfling would have seemed too much like replacing Arwen and, they realised, perhaps expecting to replace themselves. And, again, Ithilienne had shown them Naneth with Adar - no sign of any elfling!
Would Glorfindel be met by his mother, or even a long-lost, unmentioned, wife? Probably neither, Elrohir thought.
Would Grandmother deign to meet Grandfather, or be so angry with him for taking so long to join her that she refused to even talk to him? She would be there, Elrohir was sure - but she would probably show little emotion in public. She might, though, take him somewhere private and neither would be seen for at least a week…
When The Havens of Mithlond came into view Elrohir felt, rather than trepidation as he had expected, a great desire to get on board a ship and set sail into the sunset.
……………………………………
It was not a bad way to say farewell, Thranduil thought. Farewell to this forest that had been his home through good and bad since he came here with his father in the Second Age.
He remembered when he had first arrived; a young warrior in his Adar’s entourage as they travelled from Lindon in search of a new home and a new people. Then they had not been sure of their destination nor of what sort of welcome they might find. This new relocation was, if he was being honest with himself, going to be less of a step into the unknown than that one had been.
This time, thanks to the young elleth who would in time, he was sure, become his law-daughter, he knew that his wife, his younger son, his grandchildren and even, it seemed, his father, awaited him, and his older son and law-daughter would travel with him. Not only did he know who would be there waiting for him, but he also knew there were virgin forests; he could almost hear them calling out to his fëa from over the Sundering Sea so great was his feeling that they were his trees, waiting for him in his new land.
He looked with pride at his older son where he sat across the clearing in the centre of the small village where they would sleep tonight. Ardoron was accompanying him on this expedition to also say his personal farewells to all those villagers who would remain when their royal family left. And it was clear that his son had spoken nothing but the truth when he said that he could have told Thranduil the name of every village leader, should he want to know. For in each village Ardoron was greeted by name, with friendship and respect, and introduced the village elders to their King; a king, Thranduil admitted to himself, that many had not seen in years.
Yes, Thranduil thought, he had two sons to be very, very, proud of - and it would be good to see them together again.
It would not be that long. The first messengers he had sent to Mithlond had returned to say that Cirdan’s folk were currently building two new ships for those who were leaving Imladris, but they were already more than half ready.
Once those were sea-worthy they would be moved from the dry-docks for fitting out, and the ship-builders would begin to build the vessels that would be needed for those who would sail with Thranduil. There was already wood seasoning that would form the keels, ribs, and planking, and they would begin to harvest wood to form decks and superstructure straight away. All they needed was an estimate of numbers and amount of baggage, to ensure there would be enough ships of sufficient size in the fleet. Fleet! There was going to be a large fleet because Cirdan had decided the time had now come for his own folk to head over the sea. These would be the last ships built at The Havens.
Five years, the messengers had said. All would be ready, no matter how many were sailing, in five years. And already, almost one of those years had flown by; time was a fast-moving river now. The small group who had now left to take Cirdan his facts and figures would not return, they could help with the ship-building, and learn how to help the sailors.
The first messengers, on their return, had said the route was safe, but wearying, for the trees and the land no longer spoke to them, and the mortals they met had turned aside and hardly spoke. They were not sure whether the men even realised that the travellers were elves.
But, Thranduil thought, when he and all those who would travel with him made this journey there would be no mistaking who they were; no-one would turn aside and ignore them. For when the time came, as it would so quickly now, he would ride at the head of the column, crowned and bejewelled; beside him his son and law-daughter would match his splendour, and above his head would fly the standard of his house. Behind him all would wear their best and carry their bows and swords; no mortal along their route would ever forget that they had seen the last Elven King leaving Middle Earth.
…………………………………..
It was not a bad way to say farewell, Gimli thought. Not that he expected to be leaving in the next day or two, of course.
But to have a warm and comfortable home, even though it was a hobbit hole rather than deep in a mountain, with one of the best healers ever known to provide medicines and liniments to keep him moving and in little pain, and all those he held dear (who were still alive) near at hand… No, it was not a bad way to say farewell.
But oh what things he had seen and done! Both he and his axe had done their bit to help rid Middle Earth of the evils of Sauron, and he was probably the first dwarf since Narvi to claim an elf as a good friend. He had founded the dwarven city of Aglarond, and been a friend to two human kings, three when you included Elfwine, four even, when you added in Eldarion, although he had not known him as a king for longer than it took Legolas to build the Heart of Eryn Ithil.
And here he was now. Almost certainly the oldest dwarf who ever lived. The only dwarf to have sailed across the Great Sea, allowed to follow the straight way. The only dwarf to meet Mahal himself (or Lord Aulë as he had learnt to call him here). The only dwarf to be promised that, when he died, his body would lie entombed at the doorway to Lord Aulë’s forge.
Where he sat in his comfortable chair outside the hobbit hole, so that he could see all the comings and goings, the spring sunshine felt good. This, he knew, was where he would now see every change of season to come until his last breath, no more adventures now for this old dwarf. But he had seen the arrival of spring on mountains that had not only never been seen before by a dwarf, but no elves had seen them before either. He had seen the melt water flow down newly discovered rivers, eaten fish from deep clear lakes, and seen the lands where Her Ladyship and his lads would make their homes.
He puffed contentedly on his pipe; the pipe-weed good old Gandalf had supplied was some of the best Gimli had ever smoked. The wizard visited often, and they talked of old times. In fact he was rarely alone. Even when they had first returned from their journey (via a quieter route that had avoided Tirion) and Legolas had spent much of his time with young Ithilienne, and his mother, his nephew and his niece, of course, Tindómë and her husband kept him company, as did Master Elrond and his lady wife. Both so happy to tell him that they had letters from their sons and expected them to arrive soon.
He thought he might still be here to see the twins again. He had heard about the years they had spent trying to take revenge for the terrible things done to their mother by the rhuks, and had seen them wield their swords in the battle at the Black Gate. But he had seen them also as healers, and heard them teasing Tindómë; they were, like all elves he supposed, complex creatures and it would be good to see them with their mother again, at last.
And Gimli wanted, too, to see Her Ladyship reunited with her husband. She would, he thought, need the strength His Lordship gave her, to make their new home in those distant forests. Yes, he thought, he hoped he would be here when the inhabitants of Rivendell arrived.
Legolas, Gimli smiled to himself, had probably seen a good deal less of his niece than of his nephew when they had returned here to Alqualondë, for he had heard the jests about how long it might take young Haldirin to persuade her to take a ribbon for every solstice celebration since they had last seen each other. And whilst such was not the way of dwarves, he knew enough of elves, after all these years, to think the lad might need hearty meals, or miruvor and lembas, for some months to come…
Of course Tharhîwon lived here in the hobbit hole and saw that Gimli was not alone at night; there was room for Nithdur to stay when it suited them. He was content that he had done as Frodo had asked, and kept an eye on the lad. It had been a pleasure to have Tharhîwon as his last apprentice, and now he had arranged that Naltatamë and Tisirion, the smith who had worked in Rivendell and reforged Aragorn’s sword, would see the lad through to his mastery. Lord Aulë, too, had sent word that, when Gimli died, Tharhîwon would be welcomed to his forge as well.
Aye, both his lads had happy futures plotted out. And Gimli knew, though few others did, that the Elven King was also on his way. For Legolas had explained to him that Ithilienne had a gift that let her sometimes touch others’ dreams, and so Thranduil knew now that his lady wife, and an almost infinite forest, awaited him here, and he had even been able to tell the wee lass that he was getting ready to sail.
It would be good for Legolas to have his father here, and to be able to show him the land beyond the mountains. Although, to bring so many here might take more time than Gimli had left, he thought. Still, looking forward to seeing his mother and father reunited would keep Legolas from grieving if that should be how it was.
All in all, Gimli thought, this was not a bad time to prepare to say farewell, to prepare to leave this old body to join his father and his friends in what, he thought, would be an unimaginably great glittering, rock hewn, hall. And oh what tales he had to share…
Perhaps he might meet Aragorn and Frodo, there… and Sam, Merry and Pippin… even Boromir. It would be good to talk to them all again.
But not just yet.
…………………
Rhuks - dwarvish for orcs.