Until the Stars are All Alight by Dagstjarna  

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Chapter 2- Celebrían’s Grove

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Celebrian loved to read. She always said you could spend the whole life of the world returning over and over to the same poem, and leave with something new every time. 

When she left the valley to find healing in the West, she gave to her family the longest lock of her fair hair. They buried it in silver ribbons in the earth, and over it planted an aspen tree. The aspen reached full stature before it multiplied, becoming a stand that gave shade where taller spruces might grow. Now on the mountain side that had once been bare stood a large grove. The branch scars of the aspens looked just like her eyes, Arwen always thought. 

     Hair was not the only thing Celebrían left for them. She also left books, many books, filled with poems she herself had written. She never put her own name to them, though. At the bottom, she wrote the title of the poem as if it were the name of the writer. 

      Arwen had just returned yesterday from Lothlorien. That morning she rose late, still sore from the horseback journey. Taking a volume of her mother’s sweet poems she climbed up to her grove to sit and read. The twins had hardly eaten and bathed before riding out again, and now by the clippety-clip of their horses hooves they were back. It wasn’t long before they joined Arwen in the grove, each of them holding onto one of Elrond’s arms. 

Arwen closed the book, marking the page with a silver tassel. 

     “Hello!” She called, as her brothers legged up the slope to sprawl in the sun beside her. Their freckles were winter-faint but getting darker every day. Elrond sank down next to her, and hugged an arm around her shoulder. 

     “What is this you’re reading?” Elrond tapped the book. 

     “Poems by Naneth.” 

     “Which ones?” 

     Arwen opened the book, and tipped it so Elrond could see. She leaned down to look, and, to Arwen’s delight, began to read aloud.

When I wake, I shoulder a great burden. 

But in my sleep I fly swift, over strong dark water,

My thoughts my wings beside me, long curtains. 

The eves of yester and morrow stretch out under my feet, rolling land

Quiet, under snow

As I am borne up on the thermal wind of dreams. 

The starlight, unenscribed, pathless, and nameless

Holds every weight perfectly.  

 Who knew that light could be so heavy?  

“It has no title,” Elrond added, at the end. 

  “She always wrote such lovely things,” Elrohir said. 

             “You look well, Ada,” Elladan said to Elrond. Arwen agreed: the three of them had kept a close eye on her ever since Celebrían’s torment. Elrond had done well at hiding the worst of her grief from them, but having grown up in a place of healing, and a sanctuary for the bereft, they were not strangers to sorrow, and they knew how much Elrond’s heart must ache. But today she sat in the bright spring day, and the shadows under her eyes seemed lighter. 

    “You slept late, too,” Elladan remarked. 

     “I did not,” Elrond smiled, a little mysteriously. “But I was long in coming out of my room. I have tidings,” 

    Elrond recounted her dream of Celebrimbor, and the conversation about her returning. Arwen gasped. 

“What does she plan to do here?” 

“She doesn’t know yet. I suspect it will concern Sauron and the ring, but nothing is certain.”

“Oh Ada, that would be wonderful for you.” Said Elrohir. “It would be so lovely to meet her.” 

“I’ve lost so many people. I can’t deny it would be…different, to have someone back.” Elrond replied carefully. Her expression was very gaurded. 

Elladan and Elrohir left shortly after to eat. Arwen and Elrond liked to take their time walking to stop and look at every tree and flower, and quickly fell behind. While they paused to smell the roses opening along the garden path, light footfalls announced Glorfindel passing by. Elrond waved him over. 

     “Glorfindel, may I ask you something?” 

“Certainly!” 

“Did you need to get permission from the Valar to return?”

Glorfindel blinked.  

“I asked for their blessing,” He answered thoughtfully. “but I’m not sure it is needed. The Noldor were not the only people who had lessons to learn from the darkening and the exile, and the Valar are not quite as controlling as they used to be. The laws are more relaxed now, just as they are here for us. Why do you ask?” 

“I dreamt of Celebrimbor,” She proffered, in a low voice. “But please keep it between us for now. Nothing is certain.” 

Spring became Summer, and the days grew long, and the nights sweet and brief. Every day Arwen asked Elrond if she’d had any new dreams, and found herself glancing West, waiting for word from Círdan, but none came. Elrond did not dream about Celebrimbor again, so Arwen stopped asking so frequently. The uncertainty was daunting, and after fretting over it for a while, Elrond seemed keen to set the matter aside. 

     Before long, the coming of the company of Thorin Oakenshield at Midsummer’s Eve put all else out of mind. Rumors of gathering darkness were growing, and Elladan and Elrohir rode out to take word to Mirkwood and the rangers, and to bring back any news they could gather. For years they were hardly home at all. And for many of those years Arwen was unable to visit Lothlorien, the mountains being too dangerous to cross, or away from Rivendell for the same reason, unable to return.