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Chapter Four: “Flowers for Elboron”
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It is Spring in Rohan now; a mild, gentle spring that promises of birth and life. The sky is an unfinished, unsure shade of blue, but blue all the same. So wide and full that I long to be wrapped in the coolness of it…

It has been many months since I saw Elrein in my waking dream. That is what they have called it— a mere dream.

“What did you see?” They demanded as they placed me atop an unfamiliar bed and gently removed my clothing, tucking me in-between the furs and fetching various remedies. But I would not reply. Only Elboron knew. He had watched me, had followed my eyes as they settled on that sliver of green— he had instantly understood.

“Celebwynn,” he whispered into my hair one of the many sleepless nights that followed, hoping that the sound of my own name would wake me from my trancelike state. “He is gone, sister. He has been gone. Do not look for hope where there is none…”

My silence had been my only answer.

“Do you not understand? You are of different kind,” he spoke gently, not knowing the pain his words caused. “You are mortal, he is not. Oh, Celebwynn… it has been so many years…”

Too many…

“Why do you still wait…? He has abandoned you,” he paused, and touched my hair, mimicking our father in his caress. “I am sorry, sister. But he is gone, he has left for the Undying Lands; why else would he have not returned?”

In my grief, I turned from him, opening my eyes so that I could see the small and distant moon through the lone window. How trivial it looked from within walls built by human hands; how pale and weak it gleamed in the dark night! In the darkness, I did not tell Elboron that he was wrong– that Elrein had returned, and on many an occasion. It would have been folly to do so. Instead, I allowed myself one small gift, something that I had not given myself leave to do since coming to Rohan— I let myself remember…

—

I walked through the unseen paths of our land for many a day after refusing Eldarion. In the cool twilights of that autumn, I meditated on what I had done, wondering if my decision was worth the pain I had caused a man I loved, albeit only as a brother, and myself. For though the KingÂ’s son was kind and good, and in him I saw much strength and worth and even valour, my heart did not lie with him.

One such evening, as I shuffled along through the darkened forest, my slippered feet barely leaving the ground, I found myself in a clearing still baring the greenness of summer.

“A most ungraceful walk, lady.”

I stopped at the sound of his voice and turned slowly about, for I had not heard his footsteps. There had been a time when I would have heard him coming from afar, and in that moment I realized that time had broken many of the bonds between us. Out of the darkening shadows Elrein appeared, and in the dim light, I encountered the face that still haunts me.

“Why have you returned?” I whispered hoarsely, stepping away as he neared, “we parted ways! You left! Why do you return again and again?”

“Did I ever need a reason, Celebwynn?”

I turned away at his hushed words. He did not know the pain he caused me with each encounter; for every time he returned, I thought back to the night he had told me of his initial leaving.

“You told me you were never returning—- why do you return at all? You made me believe that I would never see you again—”

“No,” he stepped closer, “I never said we would never see each other again. I said I must leave, Celebwynn; our time has not yet come.”

“And when shall it come, then?”

He turned and shook his head, and in that graceful movement, I saw the wisdom of the ages. I was but a babe in arms beside him; I wondered at the sadness behind those eyes that sought mine.

“I do not know.”

“Leave then. Leave me in peace. For each time I see you again I only feel pain.”

“How can I leave?” he asked with a soft smile, catching my hands up in his, “when I see the lady of my heart in sorrow?”

“Your visits do not ease the pain, Elrein, they only broaden the depth of my heartache.”

“Forgive me, then,” he let go of my hands, “I did not mean it. I only sought to comfort you. Long have I watched you Celebwynn; do not think I only come to you whenever I desire. For if it were so, I would be beside you as you dream at night and when you wake in the light of the morning. If I had my way, I would walk beside you, and wipe the tears you shed in the silence of the hills.”

My heart began to throb painfully and slowly. I did not understand the ways of the world: why had he left? Why had my heart been broken, but our love kept intact? I suddenly realized that if he were not to leave shortly, I would not be able to withstand the ache that would come with his absence once again.

“How have of you heard of Eldarion? Is that why you have come?”

“Eldarion?” He asked, confused, “has the King’s son hurt you, Celebwynn?”

“No,” I replied, “it is I who have hurt him.” I fingered a lock of his dark hair and sighed, he was too honest to lie, I knew he spoke the truth. “I have refused his proposal of marriage.”

I watched his face grow strangely pale, and for a moment, felt triumphant: he did not, in fact, know everything. When he spoke, his words were not what I expected.

“You have grown, Celebwynn,” he marveled, taking hold of my shoulders and gazing down at me, “Aye, you are no longer a child.” His eyes remained on me, and I saw a mournfulness within them that frightened me. As he looked upon at me, his hold weakened, and I stepped away. I wanted him gone; gone, or beside me as he had said, living each day by my side. Not this never knowing, anything but this attempt at living without understanding.

“Leave,” I suddenly commanded.

“Have I hurt you? I am sorry, my words—-”

“Go! Leave! Do not return!” I yelled, pushing him away with both hands. I felt weak at my outburst, and slowly my voice softened as I stared imploringly into his eyes. “Let me live, Elrein! Let me in peace! Do not haunt my steps, do not watch me! You have hurt me too much! I am not one of your people: each day apart from you is like a thousand years for me! Days are not minutes here in Ithilien; they are centuries without end…”

My head dropped down and I gazed absently at the leaves swirling about my gown.

Dark they were, and foretold of the brumal winter ahead.

“Eternity does not stretch out for me; I live hoping for your return each day, each hour, each minute. But I cannot live like this anymore, Elrein. My heart will forever cleave to yours, but the pain your absence causes me is too strong to mend. Leave… leave… please do not return.”

His hand touched my cheek, softly and reverently. “Is that what you wish, Celebwynn?” I nodded without answer. Kindly, his fingertips left the contours of my face. “I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered, bending his head so that our brows touched gently.

I did not look up for a long while, not ’til my breathing had slowed, and when I finally did, he had vanished.

—

They say that a woman can die of a broken heart, and there are tales to prove it.

But my heart did not break.

It shielded itself from the pain, and sought out that which would dull the ache that never seemed to lift. Though Elrein had promised to leave, in my heart I knew he had not. I sensed his presence when I walked the pathways or stared up at the silver moon, and wondered dimly where he was when I felt so strangely void; as if his comings and goings were sensed by me in some inhuman way.

Spring here in Rohan reminds me little of spring in Ithilien, for there by May Day the woods and gardens and orchards have come alive with the help of the butterflies and bees. But I am not in Ithilien, I tell myself, I am in Rohan, and I try not to think of those distant hills.

The seeds Legolas gave to me have done their duty, or attempted to at least. Flowers have sprung up along the dirt trodden walkways, and trees have finally begun to grow. Saplings they are but now, and with my eyes closed tightly shut, I can imagine them as great and thick as the trees of Mirkwood. I think now of the kind Elf who had brought so many of his people to Ithilien and populated the wild to help in the restoration of the land.

I miss him now, for it was he who taught me much of what I know of herbs and flowers, and it was through him that my life skimmed and found rest in ElreinÂ’s being.

The people stop and bow as I pass, a custom that I first thought unnerving, but now take only light note of. The ways of Ithilien were the ways of my father— simple. Rohan’s traditions are foreign to me, and I wonder how long it will take for me to understand them.

I keep my head lowered, not out of disrespect, but because I fear tripping over the folds of my gown. I know that they still stare long after I have passed, watching me trail away, shaking their heads. ‘Lady Celebwynn; there she goes again, tending to her foolish flowers. Does she not know that vegetables are needed for the long winters? Does she not understand that flowers cannot be eaten?’

‘Ah,’ I think, ‘maybe not, but they can bring color to an old woman’s cheek, and can place smiles upon the most dour of faces. They may not be eaten, but they can heal.’

My hands are full of Asters, Dew-drops, Primroses, Iris-bells: spring flowers that grow in Emyn Arnen as well; flowers that I have grown up with and know as well as I know myself. I am bringing the fruits of my labor to my brother, who lies ill in his quarters, unable to move or talk. They have tried all their potions, and have at last relented to allow me to use my own remedies. The flowers are all for the ointment I will make, save the dew-drops. I smile down at them, at their light blue skins with the veins of white running through them. They will make Elboron smile, for I remember how he used to bring them to our mother’s rooms, and lay them beside her in place of father.

I cross the terrace and stop, as I have grown used to doing, and look out over the land. I feel that my mother must have stood in this same place, watching her people move to and fro; watching the horizon and waiting for her unknown future to unfold with precision and clarity.

Spring in Rohan is the epitome of simple beauty, for by Midsummer’s day the sun will have eaten away at the lush green fields and hills. My flowers bloom at the borders of this small town, and I am determined that they will withstand the long, hot months ahead. Edoras seems alive today; the people rush to and fro beneath my gaze. Like ants, they crowd the pathways and stop to smell the spring air– already they are anticipating the warm months ahead.

I enter Meduseld shortly, for in my wanderings I have forgotten the reason for my having left Elboron’s side. The healers fear his illness, but I do not fret. Each spring my brother lay still on his bed as he does now, too ill to be of much use. As a child I watched my mother nurse him, and in the past years, I took her place. I brush past the Riders who seem to find some sort of solace in crowding about their king’s door, and enter the room with my skirts and hair in disarray. In the hastiness of my actions, I have forgotten to cover my hair, and even I can see how it gleams in the darkness of the room.

“Why have the windows been barred?” I demand, stepping across the room and flinging back the rich tapestries, allowing the light to filter in.

“The light, lady!” Exclaims a foolish, withered old man, springing forth to bring the material back across the glazed windows.

“Your darkness and potions have not helped him. Leave me be.” But no one leaves, and I go about my business. I take down the rest of the draperies, lying my basket of flowers near Elboron, whom I have not yet even glanced at. I clear away various flasks and mugs, and straighten up the disorderly room with a quick hand. Finally, my eyes fall upon my brother, and I kneel beside him, running a hand through his damp hair.

“Elboron?” I ask softly, but he does not answer. “Fetch me a basin, a pitcher of cool water, and some rags,” I command a soldier who has made the mistake of peering into the room. He hesitates and I feel my impatience grow, “Now!”

From the folds of my gown I remove a small blade that I use regularly to trim my plants. The soldier returns, bearing the objects I have requested. He lies them beside me and quickly disappears. I slice the flowers apart, allowing the juices within them to pour out into the bowl. I crush the fair petals with my fingertips, and the scent instantly fills the room. From about my neck, I remove a small vile and pour in a few drops of a liquid that gleams like amber in the light.

With the blunt end of the blade, I mix the contents of the bowl, pouring in small drops of water. When it becomes a consistency I am pleased with, I cleanse a rag within the ointment I have made, and lay it across my brother’s temple.

He moves in his sleep, and I bend down low for a moment. My lips touch the side of his feverish brow, and I pray that this is nothing but the Spring Sickness, as our mother called it. Before leaving the room, I place the Dew-drops into the pitcher of water, and let it rest beside my brother’s bed, where I am sure he will see them if he opens his eyes.

I pause in the doorway before leaving, and watch him in his sleep, for it is only when he sleeps that I allow myself to think of how he had been as a child, and how much I miss the brother I once knew.

—

When Elboron was a child, I was but a babe.

And when I was a child, he was a man.

…Or so I believed.

In reality, my brother only believed he was far older than his years, unlike myself, who had to be forcefully goaded from childhood into adulthood. Even as a child one could see the man he would become, and though it filled my mother with pride, it saddened her.

Her own youth had been spent mourning the loss of her parents, and so she set forth to make life for her children as enjoyable and sweet as ever a mother could. We spent our days along the hills and gardens, learning the names of flowers and herbs with her and Legolas’ help. For Legolas had brought many of his people forth from his wood, and they filled the lands beyond our gardens with music and mirth. Friend, Legolas was, and friend he would ever remain in Ithilien.

But my brother was not interested in the powers of the ruby-iris or of the healing remedies of the ivy that grew along the walls of our home. He did not care to learn the Elvin tongue, or sing the songs of old, and so I took his place. It was I who received the knowledge; it was I who learned the names of the Elves and what they meant.

I do not say it was a joy for me, for my mind at times wandered and I longed to be free of my burdensome studies. I would sit in my mother’s quarters with quill in hand, writing the names of all that was in the room. Table, chair, vase… the list never ended, and it did not help that I could hear Elboron’s voice or his mulled laughter coming though the open window.

I would sometimes creep over to the ledge of the windowpane and rest my weary head in my hands. From there I would look out at my father and brother as they walked in the shade or fenced merrily across the lawns. It was then, that more than anything, I longed to have the grace with a sword or a bow that my own mother had. But I had little skill, and my own dislike of war had curbed what ability I might have had.

I have thought little of my father here in Rohan, but only because his memory is precious to me, and to dwell upon his countenance or words would sadden me more than I have need of. I loved my father, though often we were strangers to one another. And though Elboron seemed more at ease beside him, it was I who was most like him in spirit.

My brother was all steel and gold, as my mother was steel and ice. Strong, they were, and proud, and were only taught gentleness through the ways of their father and husband. His pity moved him, and his wisdom moved the people of Ithlien. And though at times I questioned his insight and stood at odds with him, it was to me that he would turn to when his heart was laden with grief.

… To the child born of doubt; the child that knew his heart as readily as he knew it himself.

I remember my fatherÂ’s laugh, for it was soft and could easily fall unnoticed between the cracks in the walls. But I strived to hear it, and when I captured it I was a happy child, for his laughter gladdened me more than the kind words of my mother.

And though I am forgetting him; the contours of his face and the feel of his hand within mine– I still think of him. He comes to mind when the day is warm and full, when there is noise all about me and this strange land sings and hums with life. The thought of him brings peace to my quivering thoughts, and I remember the warmth of his presence within Emyn Arnen. For where my mother was cold, he was warm. Where my mother was rigid, he was malleable; and where my mother was silent, he could laugh.
And so, when he died, my brother and I both, for the first time, thought the same thing:

That life would never be the same.

… And in ways, it never was.

—

We sat huddled outside the door of Father’s rooms; Elboron on one side of the massive door, and I on the other. We did not speak, and only the chattering of my teeth broke the silence. All was quiet within the halls, and from time to time I strained to hear the familiar sounds of footsteps or laughter.

I had not been permitted inside the room where Father lay, though Elboron had. A stray arrow had pierced his back, and it was Elboron who had carried him through the doors and laid him down on the bed that still smelt of lavender. I had followed at a close run, but had been barred from entering the room. My pleas unheard, I was told to wait outside.

Elboron joined me soon after, and so we had been sitting for many a long hour. The sun had set, and the moon risen, and still we sat in silence, watching the comings and goings without a word to one another. My brother, already nearing his one and twentieth year, was grim; a frown creased the smoothness of his face. In the darkness I reached for his hand, but he pushed me away: his grief was his own.

The King had been summoned, and I wondered at this, for in my heart I knew that such a thing would not be done without a reason of vast importance. Legolas had followed soon after, with Gimli close behind him. The Lady Arwen, too had arrived, and the sorrow upon her lovely face was frightening to behold. Many others were permitted where I was not, and I knew not who they were.

Finally, Elboron was allowed into the room. He disappeared for only a short while, and when he returned I did not question him.

I waited for them to call me, to bid me enter into the silent room where my dying father lay, but it was not to be. In their grief, they forgot my presence, my existence, and I was not allowed to whisper my last goodbye.

In the silence of the night, a song drifted over the land.

…Twas the Elves’ song that told me of my father’s death.

I uttered a cry, and Elboron turned to me, for he did not understand the meaning of the words.

“What do they sing of?” he whispered in the dark.

But I did not have the heart to tell him. Indeed, my own heart was overcome with pain, and I fled into the enveloping arms of the wood for comfort.

—

Elboron, in his weakness, smiles up at me, and I return the smile, though hesitantly. The illness is quickly passing, and soon he will be up and about. But while he still lies here, I can pretend many things; I can imagine that we are who we once were: children in a world that smiled down upon us, unaware that death could break even the strongest of bonds.

“Sing to me,” he murmurs, taking hold of a strand of my iridescent hair. With his one hand, he tries unsuccessfully to untie a cloth I have tied about it. I untangle the material from my hair and let the tresses fall down over one shoulder and onto his hand. He plays with a strand, and smiles distantly, as though he is remembering something.

To think, when he regains his strength he will once more look upon my hair as something to be ashamed of…

“…I cannot sing, Elboron, not here,” I whisper, “not even for you.”

“Not even for me?” He repeats. The pitying voice he uses makes me smile into my cupped hand, and I shake my head.

“Nay, especially not for you, brother.”

Still playing with my hair, he frowns vaguely. “Who would you sing for, Celebwynn?”

I shrug my shoulders and move away, sitting up straight in the hard backed chair. Uncomfortable, I think, so unlike the divans we had in Emyn Arnen.

“Would you sing for Elrein?” He asks suddenly, taking hold of my hand. I pull away and stand; the tome that I have been reading out loud to him from slides to the icy stone floor with a thud.

“The illness has affected your senses, Elboron,” I tell him gently.

“Forgive me,” but he does not look remorseful in the slightest. I sigh and turn away, wary of him already. “Where are you going?”

“Outside, to gather flowers for you.”

“Ever the woman, my dear sister Celebwynn,” he announces mockingly, rising up on one shoulder. I wonder dimly why suddenly he seems so strong, as though all his strength has returned in the light of my unease. And my anger grows, for Elboron’s kindness seems to be fading with each day away from Emyn Arnen… as though our father’s grave, so far away, no longer gives him reason to emulate his gentle ways.

I wish to flee from him, for I do not know this man before me. Where is the kindheartedness and benevolence that seemed so much a part of him in Gondor? Has it disappeared with the arrival of the crown that now rests beside him?

“Is it strange to see me so occupied, brother?” I ask grimly, “is it so strange that I seek solace in the earth’s goodness?”

“Nay, Not strange. Not strange at all, but then again, you were always somewhat strange,” he smiles, “but do not fear, sister, I have grown used to it.”

“Your wit astounds me, my Lord,” I snap back, turning hastily away. For I feel my face flush with fury, and I strain to rein in my emotions.

“Of course it does,” he says, and as I turn, I see him settling back onto a cushion, a smirk fixed upon his face. I instantly regret my moments of generosity, and wish to take back those many hours I spent by his side, watching him wrestle with the demons of his sleep, “Celebwynn, Celebwynn, when will you learn to behave like the Lady you were born to be? So quick to stab back… “

“Stab back?”

“With your tongue, as you always have. Ever since we were children; do you not remember what they called you? ‘The little—–”

“Lay hold of your mind before giving leave to your lips to speak, good sir,” I interrupt, my eyes charged with anger, “I have not nursed you back to health to hear you talk to me as one would talk to a horse or a woman of ill repute.”

He shakes his head, and stops suddenly; a look of utter anguish crosses the handsome features of his face.

“Celebwynn, the pain—”

But I turn on my heal and leave the room swiftly. Let him lie there, I think. Let him suffer at least for awhile.

Let him suffer as I have suffered.

—

I breathe in Rohan’s air slowly, and walk across the terrace, my stained gown fluttering behind me. I glance down at the cloth, and smile despite myself: I need a nurse once again, to help in my role as lady of the castle.

From here I can see the White Mountains; blue they are, not white. The tips must be white, but I cannot tell, not from here, where the cloud’s breath diminishes all from view.

I am angry, but the anger is passing. My self-pity is tiring, and I think that maybe I have grown in Rohan, for it was never so before. I once could walk the pathways of my beloved land thinking only of my loss, my mind set on casting the world about me into a darkened sphere. It grows wearisome here, and I find it takes much of my energy to think only of my woes.

I rest my hands on a pillar and search the land, hoping for something. Whatever it is I am waiting for does not appear, though I strain my eyes far. I seek comfort, and I feel as though I will not find it here.

… Moments like these, I remember ElreinÂ’s arms, and how it felt to laugh alongside him.

I shake my head; Elrein does not belong here, not in Rohan, and not in my thoughts. I look to the hills, at the flowers I promised Elboron. They grow everywhere, but it is the Symbelmyne that catches my eye. I gaze down upon it longingly, and am startled at my thoughts.

…For I think it would be nice to rest beside my kinsmen, and sleep in the graves of the kings and queens of Rohan, with petal after petal of Evermind falling down about me.

…White and pure they would fall, as effortlessly as the stars that fall down from the heavens.

These, I think, are the flowers my brother would have me pick.

—-