Galenbrethil sat beside him on the broad bench, facing him and gathering her feet beneath her. She set the small lantern on the balcony railing and it lit their faces in pale flickering light. "Erestor and Lindefal were very concerned about your shoulder. May I?" she asked, holding her slender hands before her. He frowned at her in dim light, the wall lanterns this high in the city had not been lit yet. "I am not in the mood for this." She smiled, "Why are the physicians the worst patients? I just heard you the other day with your class explaining the importance of touch and sensitivity when working with someone who is ill." Her hands turned slowly in the warm summer air, "You know these hands, you have known them for three thousand years. Have they ever done anything but good for you?" She waited patiently for the permission to touch from a conscious patient as was considered proper in a non-emergency healing situation. Elrond knew his own mind, and could be very stubborn. He could say no, and mean it.
She presented her hands palms up and raised an eyebrow in question. He nodded slowly with a frown, and sat upright. She gently laid one hand on his thigh and the other around him, moving her hand gently along his spine. He felt the touch ever so slightly, but her aura created ripples and eddies in his own energy field. She closed her eyes as she concentrated on what her hands told her. She read his aura as it reacted to hers. To an observer they appeared to sit quietly side by side, touching as old friends might, however streams of information flowed from one to the other as he relaxed and she probed deeper with hand and mind. Their long association gave them an intimate bond, which aided her searching touch. Her hand lingered over his shoulder, touching it ever so gently, sharing energy and realigning the damaged flow slightly over the injury.
She finally sat back and opened her eyes, with a sigh and wry smile. She folded her hands back into her lap. "I hear you won the horse race yesterday, but that it was a close call. The course you chose was difficult and demanding, I am surprised the grooms allowed it." She shook her head, "But even I know that the horses are kept at battle- ready always and work hard on the border patrols." She shrugged, "Your strained shoulder would tell me the tale if Lindefal had not already done so. Gossip expands the story even more. You remain famous for your riding skills, but at what cost? " She tsk-tsked.
He pursed his lips and gathered his thoughts. "The horses were evenly matched, and some of the best we have ever produced, either could have pulled ahead in the end. The last turn and jump was, um... difficult." He smiled a small smile in pride, the stables at Rivendell were famous for their outstanding inhabitants, and the Elven Horses there had lineages that had been managed carefully for centuries. The best bloodlines stemmed from the sturdy mounts brought at the founding of Rivendell from the seaside settlements of the Grey Havens and Gil-galad's stables. Hardy beasts brought from Ost-en-Edhil by survivors brought agility and intelligence to the mix. The rich, mineral laden grasses of the valley and careful management had brought the horses of Rivendell up in size and stamina, and they were strong hearted and fearless from their careful training and nurturing. Elrond had ridden a dark gray mare in the race, one that reminded him of his favorite mount long ago at Gil-Galad's court. She carried those ancient genes within her, and he had adopted her as his second mount as he saw her beloved ancestor reappear in her appearance and personality.
Arwen's beloved Asfaloth was of this same bloodline, and he truly understood the close bond between his daughter and her extraordinary mount. A well matched Elven rider and a sensitive Elven horse moved as one with joined thoughts, and perhaps a spoken word for clarity. Arwen and Asfaloth were nearly inseparable when she was resident at Rivendell. Her love of riding was more indulged at her home there than in Lorien, where she spent much of the year with her grandparents. The grooms welcomed her cheerful smile and taught her their skills with no reluctance. A smile of thanks from the Master's daughter could melt the gruffest of hearts.
Galenbrethil's soft voice broke his reverie of studbooks and bloodlines. "Elrond, are you well?" she asked. "Your thoughts wander tonight." He looked at her again, turning his head brought a twinge to his shoulder and neck. His mount had turned quickly at the bend in the river and had leapt the fallen log after the split second twist and turn. In the fallen brush and gravel of the riverside the two horses had moved just inches apart along the gravely banks. He had pounded past the goal line in the race yesterday, only a nose ahead of the head groom and his mount from the second bloodline they were developing in Rivendell's stables.
Elrond's centuries of riding skills had glued him to the lurching mare, but he suspected the twist and leap had done him in with its awkwardness. Cheers from the sidelines had greeted the difficult finish and he imagined he was glad he had not seen the event, in the actual rush of the race it was over in a flash. He himself had examined the horses over later in the stables, checking for injuries and strains, giving little thought to himself until later that night. He was still in the stables when his sons and Aragorn arrived, and he spoke long with them there before they headed to the house. A long soak later in steaming water had soothed tight muscles. The late evening and busy next day had not allowed him to rest the shoulder as he should have. It was stiffening even now as he sat still and the evening grew cool.
Galenbrethil opened her small case and removed a fist sized pottery jar. This is for you, come along and I will apply it. You should rest a few days. He smiled a slight smile at the medicine and her at mild scolding. He knew he was a difficult patient, he knew Lindefal and Erestor worried over him, and he was grateful again for a thousandth time that his inner circle watched over him with such love and affection. He laid a gentle hand on hers and said, "Thank you." She unfolded her long and graceful legs and held out a hand for him. He rose and they moved slowly along the balconies back to the Great House as the music from the dance rose to meet them and entwine them in ancient song. After all, he had to do something to ease the shoulder strain; Alfirin and Thaladorn would be waiting for an answer to their invitation.
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