Galadriel had left the Welcome House. The decision of the Council had, some eight months previously, finally overturned to her government of the lowlands of Idril and Tuor's realm, and Galadriel had departed to begin the construction of her kingdom. She would later return to the House of Valinor to await the arrival of her husband. Ardís and Ereinion had ridden out halfway with her that morning, leaving Elrond a chance to spend time in the Healing Halls with Aranel.
Yet when he heard the approach of the returning horses in the hours of the late afternoon, Elrond finished his duties and, washing his hands under the icy jet that flowed from the mouth of a rearing sea-horse fountain, hastened down to meet them. But when he got to the courtyard, it was empty. Suspecting that the younger elves had already headed for the enclosure to cool their sweated horses, Elrond lingered for a time, gazing out at the ocean. The day was cool, almost to the point of cold, for autumn was drawing in once more. The sun had slipped low in the sky and now burned blood red colours across the horizon. Reflected in the ocean below the hues were darker still, burgundy blushes across the rolling backs of Osse's white horses. Yet still the youngsters did not appear. Elrond debated for a moment, wrapping his cloak around him more tightly. His half-elven blood made him far more susceptible to the chill in the air, which others of elvin kind found pleasant. Then he followed the leaf-strewn track, with its autumnal bower shedding russet and golden leaves like jewelled rain, to the horses' enclosure.
Stood inside the fenced arena, Blue and Moonshine scratched at each other's withers with their short teeth in a gesture of equine fondness. Their coats were still darkened with sweat, now drying into frosted patterns upon their backs. Their daypacks were dumped carelessly at the foot of a fence post.
Ereinion and Ardís were lying in a pile of fallen leaves at the edge of the enclosure. Ardís was fiddling idly with a handful of leaves, her gaze resting somewhere in the region of her boots. Ereinion was propped upon his elbow, facing her. His eyebrows were arched in question. Ardís was turned away from him so Elrond could not see her features, but as he watched she nodded. Not wishing to interrupt, he paused a little distance away, making no move to alert them to his presence. But what then unfolded before him shocked all thoughts of intrusion from his mind.
Ereinion spoke once more and Ardís' shoulders lifted in a shrug. She was twisting a leaf between her thumb and forefinger. She rolled onto her side, and glanced up at him. Then Ereinion reached out hesitantly, touching Ardís' hair, her cheek and leaned closer. Ardís dropped her leaf, letting her arms slip around him. Slowly, tentatively, their lips met.
Elrond turned mechanically away. His footsteps sounded loud and strangely hollow as he walked back through the endless tracks that led from the horses' enclosure toward the house. He was numb inside. His heart trembled weakly within his breast, like a broken-winged bird struggling in vain to rise from the hard ground that shattered its body. His limbs felt heavy; his soul hollow. He knew not where he was going, but he did not look back. And so he did not see the scene that played out inside the orchard.
It was Ereinion who drew back first - though Ardís stiffening uneasily beneath him was perhaps the cause. Sitting up, Ereinion ran his tongue across his teeth, lifting his hand to rub his thumb along his lower lip. His features were creased with an uncertain frown. Ardís coughed, pulling strands of her hair out of her mouth and pulled a face.
"Yuck," she said flatly.
Ereinion nodded, wiping at his mouth again. Ardís tugged the band out of her hair and shook her head to loose the leaves that had tangled in her auburn locks. The flame-coloured curtain cascaded over her shoulders and she scraped it back behind her ears. She shrugged philosophically.
"Oh well, I suppose we had to try."
Ereinion's expression was far from convinced. "Did you... did you think - feel...?"
"What?" Ardís asked, her voice wary.
"As though we had..."
"Done that before?"
Watching her uneasily, for he knew that her memories were few, Ereinion nodded.
"Yes. Although I think we got further last time."
"I think we were older," Ereinion admitted.
"Not much," Ardís darkly remarked. "We were - fifty perhaps?"
Ereinion nodded. "I thought so too."
Ardís scrambled to her feet and held out a hand, pulling Ereinion to his. Then she took the water-carrier from the fence, sipped from the neck and spat profusely on the grass.
"I am sorry," she said, handing him the water. "But that was horrible. I just think... It is not you. I find it almost...I find it unnatural to be kissed by a male."
Ereinion laughed. "I do not know. Perhaps it would not be so unnatural."
Ardís snickered. "You would not think so."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Ereinion demanded.
But she shook her head and mimed sewing her lips closed. Knotting her hair back up into her ponytail she began to walk back to her horse, opening the gate to let him out of the enclosure.
"Ardís!" Ereinion said urgently. "What do you mean?"
She smirked at him and began to walk backwards toward the house. "Catch me and I shall tell you," she challenged, and, spinning around to flee, broke into a run.
Casting the water carrier aside with a curse, Ereinion pelted after her.
Elrond walked through the corridors of the Welcome House. The cool stone of the passageways seemed to penetrate through to his bones, but the cold was not enough to stir shivers from him. He was to numb even to feel its chill. Though people moved about him, Elrond did not see them. Though the halls rang with the cheerful conversations of the elves that talked and laughed, making preparations for the winter solstice festival, the sounds were muted. His ears rang, an incessant peal that would not cease. Even the voice of his reason was silenced beneath it.
"Are you well, my lord?"
From miles away he heard the muffled, distorted question, Glorfindel's voice sounded as though he spoke from the bottomless pits of the ocean. He saw from a great distance the elf-lord turn from Ecthelion's side and approach him.
"Yes, fine, Glorfindel." His answer was automatic.
"Elrond," Glorfindel caught his arm, his expression etched with concern. "Elrond!" Glorfindel almost shouted his name and he turned, startled abruptly from the continued, nagging cry of his soul. "Elrond - dear Elbereth - whatever is the matter?"
Elrond shook his head mutely, drawing a deep breath and steeling himself to face Glorfindel. "Nothing." He forced a smile. "Nothing. I am well, Glorfindel, truly. I was just distracted."
"Are you certain?" Glorfindel did not believe him. The Elda's hand gently touched his cheek, the affection in the caress almost intolerable.
Elrond, with long-practiced skill, kept his gaze on the concerned azure eyes of his long-time companion, veiling the deep grave of emotions inside his own eyes. "Yes." The smile was a little less forced now, though equally false.
Reluctantly, Glorfindel nodded. "If you are sure. But perhaps, my lord - Elrond - you should take some rest. I have not seen you seem so bleak since - many years now past: Gil-galad's death or the passing of lonely Celebrían into this land. Tell me, they are both well?"
"Yes," Elrond nodded. "They are fine. I was simply lost in thought, Glorfindel - and you were right to see that the musings were not pleasant. But I am stirred from them now; for that I thank you. I am well. Go to, my friend, I would not keep you from your evening."
With a final concerned glance Glorfindel did as he was bade, backing away toward his waiting companion, Ecthelion, and leaving Elrond to return to his silent chambers alone.
Once inside the privacy of his suite, the former lord of Imladris closed the door firmly and leaned against it. Drawing a deep, steadying breath he moved from its solid support, crossing to the bathroom and beginning to fill jugs of water to heat beside the fire. He arranged towels, washing cloths and fresh clothing, occupying himself briefly with simple tasks. These completed, however, he sank down upon the edge of the copper tub and sighed, closing his eyes. You are an old fool, Elrond Peredhel, he chided himself. Did you not promise yourself that you would not interfere if Ereinion chose another mate? He sighed again. And I will not. But that, sadly, does not keep me from the pain.
He pressed a hand over his heart, feeling the icy burn that spread paralysing talons through his body, closing its bitter grip around his soul. The black, heavy grief that had been Ereinion's passing was instead sharp, immediate barbs as Elrond witnessed the one he loved above all others in the arms of another. Ah Elbereth, this hurts. He suddenly realised he was shivering and quickly rose, moving to the fireside instead and sinking down amidst the warming copper jugs, the water in them beginning to steam slightly.
It occurred as he did so that such symptoms were those usually equated with the beginnings of bitter elven grief. So then, this could kill me... If I had not learned once already to live without him. Elrond shook his head, emitting a bark of tired, resentful laughter. Some hopes of such respite. Although it would be nicely ironic to fade and die in the Undying Lands. Closing his eyes once more Elrond drew in another deep, steeling breath. This is ridiculous. There is more to your life than Ereinion; has not that once already been proved? Aye, but is it so now? He rose, taking off his out door cloak and hanging it upon the hook set into the back of the door. He could not stop thinking. I did not tell him. I did not tell him of what we shared, nor did I encourage him to find out. I thought... I hoped that he would remember. I wonder what would have happened if I - but I promised that I would not. And this is the result. So be it. So must it be. Picking up the first of the copper jugs he began to fill the bathtub.
As he did so, the door opened and Ereinion entered. His cheeks were flushed crimson, his hair tousled - by the wind? Elrond quelled the speculation that it might not be so. Ereinion peeled off his outer cloak and slung it carelessly onto the bed.
"It is growing cold outside," he observed, sounding pleased by the discovery.
His oblivion cut like shards of ice through the soul. Elrond did not reply.
Ereinion glanced at him. "Elrond? Is everything all right?" Ereinion's cheerful expression dropped almost immediately into a troubled frown. "What is wrong?"
Elrond flashed him a pasted smile. "Nothing," he said.
Ereinion flicked his eyebrows to the heavens and gave his head a slight, disbelieving shake. "As you wish."
Elrond focused hard upon the stream of water pouring slowly from the jug, listening to the hollow ringing sound of the liquid hitting the thin copper base of the bath. He wondered when he had grown so transparent. But then, Ereinion had, like Glorfindel, an uncanny ability to penetrate the public masks Elrond had so carefully sculpted.
"Did you have a good ride?" he asked, picking up conversation to fill the questioning silence.
"Yes, thank you," Ereinion smiled at him, his fingers working to loosen his tangled braids. But something in his eyes told a slightly different story.
Elrond raised an eyebrow and this time it was Ereinion whose smile was forced, his gaze averted.
"Are you all right?" Elrond asked. Though inside a leaden part of him protested its comfort lay in ignorance, he could not leave the question unasked, for Ereinion's sake alone.
Again the younger elf replied with an affirmative, this one holding less conviction still, though slightly touchy in its repetition.
"Very well." Elrond knew his acceptance was as sceptical as Ereinion's had been. "Did you want to take this bath?"
Though the chills that wracked his body had not abated, the atmosphere was claustrophobic with unspoken words. Unable to tolerate the grating tension, Elrond picked up a book, and retreated to the fireside in the library without waiting for an answer.
Left alone, Ereinion stared for several long moments at the closed door. The room still bristled with the weight of concealment. Ereinion shook his hair out of his eyes, running a hand through it and sighed. He had wanted to speak to Elrond about the kiss shared with Ardís, for though he had succeeded in catching his long-time friend, mercilessly tickling her, she had refused to yield whatever information she concealed.
"No, bright star," she had said, gasping for breath as he used the height and weight that his form had over hers to advantage and pinned her in the dirt. "No, I will not tell you."
Ereinion had sat back on his heels and folded his arms. "I thought that it was part of the challenge."
"I did not think you would actually catch me!" she indignantly retorted.
Smirking with satisfaction he had risen, and pulled her to her feet. "Serves you right for being so egotistical."
She had pulled a face at him. "Well, I am sure I have learned my lesson. But I will still not tell you. Ask Elrond."
Gazing at her for an exasperated moment he conceded defeat and returned to the chambers in search of easier prey. So close had he grown to Elrond over the years that Ereinion had not anticipated difficulty in speaking with him. Yet Elrond had seemed...distant. And suddenly Ereinion knew not how to approach the subject. The feelings of the heart was one of the few topics upon which they had spoken little; indeed Ereinion had been a great deal too young to contemplate the concept of love until recent years. Apart from their single encounter that even now he blushed to recall, inwardly groaning at the lack of control it was possible to exert over hormones, Ereinion had seen no signs that he and Elrond had once been lovers, though over the years he had searched. Rumours it seemed, a misinterpretation of a deep friendship, one that fortunately they had been able to recover.
Elrond was beautiful though, of that there was no denying. Occasionally something that he would do, a look in his eye or a turn of his head could make Ereinion catch his breath, but there was never a sign from the elder elf that he even noticed the effect he could have. And besides, Ereinion argued to himself, there was no reason why he should not admire Elrond. What was there not to admire? he fondly wondered. Smiling to himself he began to peel off his clothing to take the abandoned bath.
Settling into the heated water he sighed to himself. It was not so strange that he should find Elrond attractive, was it? Thinking of the soft press and pull of Ardís' lips upon his own he found his imagination guide his sight to picture not Ardís' beneath him, but Elrond, his hands tangled in Ereinion's hair. Feeling the stir of his body beneath the water, Ereinion opened his eyes quickly. Reaching for a copper jug he added cold water to the bath, drawing in a hissing breath at the chill as it cascaded down his torso. Leaning back against the edge of the tub he wondered what it was that moved him to find Elrond attractive, where Ardís, a friend he had known even before the half-elven lord, could not so affect him. Ai, what is this wretched process of maturing that it thus confuses friendships? Ereinion groaned silently.
He rinsed his hair under the water and then rose, wrapping a dressing robe around himself. Unable to stand any longer the air of oppression that lingered in the chamber from unspoken words, he threw on a pair of breeches beneath his loose robe and headed, without conscious thought, for the main library.
Elrond looked up briefly when Ereinion entered; he was sat beside the grate, his back to the fire and his outdoor cape still about his shoulders. He laid aside his book, and rose as Ereinion approached.
"If you have finished with the bath I think I shall take one," Elrond said. He smiled one of his empty smiles, which meant nothing save that he hid everything.
"Elrond," Ereinion touched his arm, unsettled by the uncharacteristic reserve of the elder elf, and realised he had sought automatically Elrond's company for the sudden divide between them rang like a hideous discord within his soul. "Is aught ill with you?" He fingered a fold of Elrond's outdoor cloak; concern registering as he felt the slight chill to the half-elf's skin. "You seem..."
"I am a little cold," Elrond replied, drawing his cloak closer about him. He smiled another meaningless smile. "I think it is merely a trait of my human blood. I am more affected by the weather changes than most of the elves."
And with that he departed, leaving Ereinion alone once more to speak only into the empty silence: "It is not the winter beyond the walls that chills your demeanour. Elrond, what is it that you hide from me?"
He heard her enter some half an hour later yet, absorbed in the circulations of his thoughts, which brought no clarity yet refused to cease their churning, he did not acknowledge her presence. For some time she stood, leaning against the bookshelves simply watching him.
Then she spoke: "Ereinion, you will wear the flagstones through if you continue that path much longer."
Ereinion glanced toward her, slightly surprised that she had not simply left him to his pensive perambulations.
"Something clearly is upon your mind," Celebrían said, moving to sit upon the hearth, her back to the fire. Ereinion paused in his pacing, gazing at the woman who had for so many years of his early youth been kind counsellor and mother to him. Though he would have preferred to speak to Círdan, Ereinion was more than aware that the shipwright's answers were frequently more evasive than Elrond's. And speaking with Elrond was out of the question. Ereinion moved to the hearth and sat beside her, gripping the edges of the fireside with his fingers.
"I kissed Ardís," he said eventually.
He kept his eyes fixed upon the crack in the flagstones, tracing its thin, spidery path through to the groove that separated the flag from the others inset into the floor. Celebrían was silent. Ereinion did not look up.
"And?" she said gently, after a moment.
"And what?" This time he did lift his head, giving it an impatient shake. "And nothing."
"Ereinion, from the unease you are exhibiting I thought that you intended to speak to me of binding to her," Celebrían replied, her expression very sober.
Ereinion recoiled abruptly. "No! No, I do not - I do not... She prefers women," he finished awkwardly.
"And what about you?" Celebrían asked.
Ereinion cast her a sideways glance, thinking of the strange allure of Elrond's thick, dark hair, and strong, muscular frame, that Ardís' whip-slender body and fire-stained locks could not produce. "I do not," he said with a shrug. "With that in mind we are hardly compatible."
Celebrían chuckled. "No indeed. Why did you do it?"
"Curiosity - on both our parts," Ereinion answered, shrugging again.
"And was it a worthwhile experiment?" "Not really."
Celebrían laughed again. "My, but you are blunt!" she said amusedly. "Well, if it is not binding you wish to speak of, may I ask what it was?"
Ereinion was silent for a moment. He knew not how to begin to explain his unease around Elrond, the strange distance that lay suddenly between them. Long since had he adjusted to the physical attraction that was Elrond's great, individual beauty - it was not merely that. Indeed he scarcely worried over such matters, lest his body awaken inappropriately early in the morn. It was as if the simple, foolish kiss shared with Ardís had split a gorge between them. And Elrond did not even know of it! Though inclined to speak, even simply in amusement about his own folly, to Elrond, Ereinion could find no words to broach the subject with the one person he trusted above all others. He feared, somewhere deep in his soul, that Elrond would feel betrayed, or even hurt.
Ereinion knew not what madness led him to think that Elrond would feel so. Elrond was married - and to Celebrían no less! Yet to speak aloud: I kissed Ardís, with such unease within his heart, suddenly made an innocent satisfying of curiosity seem shameful. He knew not why he should feel it so. And dearly he would have liked to ask, wondering, if somehow this was connected to the strange and as yet unexplainable kinship he had always felt in the company of the peredhel. Yet he could not speak of it to Elrond. And he dared speak of it to no other. Torn, he glanced up at Celebrían. Foster-mother, kind counsellor, and respected lady that she was to him, she was still Elrond's wife.
"No," he said finally. "No, I do not think so."
She stood before him, her long crimson hair bound back into an intricate knot. A lady's riding habit hugged her slender form. Yet beneath her dress her breeches remained. Her hands were gloved as she clasped his; the emerald depths to her eyes held myriad emotions. Words escaped him, and Ereinion gripped her fingers tightly.
"I have to go," Ardís said quietly. "I cannot be a warrior, Ereinion. There is no place for such a creature here. And I am no lady. I have to find out what I can be, and I fear that it cannot be done here, where everything reminds me of who I was. I cannot live in the past, and I cannot escape it either." A fleetingly annoyed look crossed her features, raising a strained smile on Ereinion's.
"I know," he said softly. "I mean, I understand."
"That is more than I do!" Ardís sighed ruefully. She gripped his arm in a warrior's clasp, then, just as fleetingly, kissed his cheek.
"Elbereth watch over you," Ereinion said soberly.
"And over you."
For a moment longer she stared at him, the weight of shared years in their gazes, before she squared her shoulders and walked away. He watched her, watched as she embraced Celebrían tightly, watched as she gripped Círdan's arm, and then, with the same resolve, turned away once more to mount her stallion. With three escorts at her side, one the vassal of the Noldor King himself, she rode from the House of Valinor, the home of their second childhood, bound for Tirion and the home of their kin.
Ereinion stood for a long time, watching the horses decreasing in size as they made their brisk way along the paths that led into the wilds. Distantly he was aware of Celebrían putting her arm around Gailel, who was crying quietly, her head buried in Gildor's shoulder. Oropher kicked a stone down the track, walking briskly out of sight. A hand briefly touched Ereinion's shoulder, and Círdan's fingers gently squeezed in comfort. But Ereinion did not follow as the shipwright began to walk back to the house. Instead he stood, watching as the travelling horses began to move swiftly, cantering across the open land. Ereinion turned resolutely upon his heel, knowing without looking up that Elrond stood upon the steps to the house, waiting for him.
Elrond fell into step with the younger elf as they mounted the steps and returned to the house. The departure of Ardís had come as something of a surprise to him, though he had noticed an unusual quietness to the slightly brash and energetic younger girl over the winter months previous to that day. He made no attempt to offer words of consolation, and for a while they walked in silence: partings hurt, even fond ones.
"When does she intend to return?" Elrond asked eventually.
"The coming of age ceremony." Ereinion's reply was gloomy, though that date was now but eight years hence.
Elrond caught his breath and swallowed it. Gailel and Gildor were then to be married. It was possible, was it not, that Ereinion and Ardís...? He knew not whether to ask or to hold his peace. A grimly resolved part of him wanted to know, for though he had heard no mention of a relationship between them, less than four months ago they had shared a kiss beneath the trees of the wood. But it was not his life to live, nor his choice to make.
"Eight years is not so very long," he said after a pause. "Though you have spent over forty in each other's company, and so I suppose it seems endless."
Ereinion half laughed, though the sound held little humour. "It feels strange," he said, "to know when she will return, or even trust in aught but luck that she will! And it is more than forty years, Elrond. We grew up together when we were truly children. She rarely left my side until her death. But she used to travel upon those reconnaissance missions - those that Glorfindel and Gandalf went upon. And I would never know whether or nay she would return..."
He seemed to expect no answer, for he fell silent once more, shaking his head.
"It is no longer the same," Elrond said eventually, not knowing what else to say. "She will come back, Ereinion."
"Aye, and perhaps a princess!" Ereinion's lips twisted into a grin at the notion. "Small chance of that though, perhaps. She would have to marry!"
Elrond felt a sudden chill blossom outward from his heart. "Oh?" he enquired, hearing his voice come out flat and empty.
Ereinion, however, was laughing. "That is not likely to happen," he said, glancing at Elrond with a grin. "Ardís has been a great friend to me all these many years for one reason above any other - and that is that she never sought to marry me, for alliance or any other reason."
Elrond looked sharply at Ereinion, swallowing down the pulse that had risen to beat heavily in his throat. Ardis had had a lover in Middle-earth, had she not? he remembered suddenly. Aye, and a female at that, so it is small surprise that that was the case. Perhaps... Perhaps she has not changed...
Ereinion continued, smiling to himself. "I was thinking upon that banquet we had some years ago now, and recalling the times in Lindon," he explained. "And I swear all I can remember of them is trying to talk my way out of political marriages!"
A laugh escaped Elrond in spite of his previous unease at the chosen topic of conversation. He too recalled the frequent banquets at Lindon, with the eligible maidens ever in attendance. He remembered all too well the often exasperated - even horrified - glances Ereinion had shot him when backs were turned.
"Not that you were ever any help," Ereinion remarked, suddenly looking at him with an amused frown.
Elrond's eyebrows shot up. Surprise welled from deep within him and he stared at Ereinion, coming to a halt in the corridor. "You remember...?"
"Oh, I remember all too well," Ereinion chided him. "I could not believe it, at the feast of winter solstice - what was the year? 3010? When Celeborn was trying to talk me into marrying that wretched child of his cousin! And you stood with Glorfindel for the entire time, watching me over his shoulder and smirking into your wine. I could have killed you!"
Elrond's hand straying unconsciously to touch his own shoulder, laughing a little as he recalled the possessive bruises Gil-galad had left upon him the night following that little escapade. "What of the time Círdan suggested that you should be married into the family of Oropher to secure a more stable alliance with the Greenwood?" he teased.
"Ah, do not!" Ereinion groaned, leaning against the wall as his laughter consumed him. "'It is a worthy consideration, Ereinion, and would be most mutually beneficial. Quite apart from that it is high time that you were married; 'tis a most strange fate to spend one's life so solitary,'" he quoted, in an impressive rendition of Círdan. "And the old sailor himself is not married to this day! Could I not have slain him then!"
Elrond put his hands on his knees, almost bent double as he laughed. He could picture clearly the barest of smiles that had touched Círdan's lips throughout that conversation, and the wink he had shot the young and apprehensive Elrond, watching, uneasily aware that though king and seneschal could and did share much, matrimony was not upon that list. The feeling of relief that had flooded him, realising the shipwright spoke only in jest, had been more than enough for Elrond to keep the secret, and a straight face...
"Aye, and Oropher himself was spluttering into his wine," Elrond chuckled. "He thought Círdan serious."
"So did I! For at least half an hour," Ereinion groaned, pushing aside his hair and straightening up with another chuckle. "Ah, what a fate that would have been, having to keep the company of Oropher for visits of the marital kin!"
"You might actually have had to be civil to him," Elrond replied, beginning to walk again.
"I was always civil!" Ereinion objected.
"Civil," Elrond conceded. "And that was all!"
Ereinion laughed again. "Charge me guilty and clap me in irons," he answered, chuckling as Elrond jestingly clasped the back of his neck. "Come, my dear gaoler, do we not have another council meeting a few moons hence?"
The council system of Valinor was a complex one, to Elrond's mind. The council was divided into two, the Upper Council and the Lower Council. These divisive terms served merely to distinguish the elves that had long been residents in Valinor from the newer arrivals. To the Upper Council belonged Olwe, its leader; Ingwe, Finarfin, Idril and Tuor; Ecthelion, Gailwen, and Silmarien, the vassal of Ingwe. The lower consisted of Círdan, Glorfindel, Galadriel, and Elrond. Círdan was the acknowledged head of the Lower Council, for it was he who had until recent years spent the greatest length of time in Aman, and therefore knew its systems well. However, as Elrond noticed with ever increasing concern, Círdan was not a suitable leader for the smaller, less experienced Lower Council. Círdan was not, by nature, a leader. People followed his lead from trust and respect, and he had the wisdom to guide them well. But it was not enough...
Elrond resisted the impulse to close his eyes as the voices rose once more around him.
"I hardly think, Círdan, that you can justify these perpetual journeys to Middle-earth," Olwe's scathing tones penetrated the conflicting ripple of voices. "We can ill afford for the ships of men to learn the course our boats steer. We must at no cause lead men into these realms."
Círdan rubbed his forehead in frustration and sighed, making evident his dislike of the newly arisen conflict. "Olwe, there are many of our kind who have not left Middle-earth..." he began.
"Should there not be further journeys made to encourage those who remain to join us upon these shores?" Ecthelion suggested, speaking across Círdan to Olwe.
"They have made their choices," Finarfin interjected flatly, voicing with eerie echo words that his elder half-brother had spoken so long ago: "There is no requirement that the elves must reside within Aman; it is a choice made of free will."
"Aye, and that is my meaning," Círdan once more attempted. "Some of our people have delayed their travel, and need transport..."
"Olwe speaks advisedly," Silmarien commented. "We must protect this realm, and those who remain in Middle-earth do so of their own will."
"Valinor cannot be breached by the ships of men!" Elrond said sharply, speaking into the dispute as Círdan despairingly put his head in his hands. "We are not endangering our people, save those we leave behind to the fate of fading if Círdan does not make these journeys!"
"Is not Tuor here? Are not you?" Olwe said pointedly. "The Valar have made exceptions before."
Círdan touched Elrond's wrist lightly, murmuring softly. "Their decision matters not, Elrond. I will not cease my travels."
Though Elrond briefly nodded so that Círdan might know he had heard the words, he persisted, disliking the continued dismissal of the Lower Council that the Upper continued to exact. "Then that is their will, and ultimately the will of Illuvatar, and the decision does not rest in your hands," he said calmly.
"Hold your peace, healer." Gailwen spoke in tones laced with scorn, the weighty emphasis upon the last word making it sneer as though it were an insult.
Elrond closed his jaw in annoyance. Though he held no realm in Valinor it was of his own will. Had he wished to it would have taken little more than a petition to the Council to gain land enough to set up a considerable domain. His inclination, however, swayed him instead to be content with his place in the healing halls, for he was slowly recovering his abilities, to his considerable relief.
"I would thank you not to speak that way to me," he said, a trifle coldly. "My profession is hardly one that you can lightly dismiss, and has little impact upon my ability to speak sense."
"Nay, but you are concerned too greatly with the health of those who are in your care to see that the state was of their own making. Long have they known they are free to travel to these lands," Silmarien put in.
"Have you been to the healing halls?" Ereinion, seated upon Elrond's right, interjected, annoyed.
"Child, you are permitted here to listen, not to speak," Gailwen disparagingly remarked.
"So you would condone the desertion of your own kind? All those who fought on, when they might have chosen long ago to leave Middle-earth to the coming of a second darkness and dismiss its fate as not being tied to ours?" Ereinion said, raising his eyebrows and reclining in his chair with studied, authoritarian insolence.
Gailwen's cheeks flushed with crimson, and her lips thinned. "You are an impudent child!" she exclaimed hotly.
"He speaks words of wisdom that you might do well to heed," Gandalf rumbled from the end of the table, and Gailwen's colour heightened.
"Quite," Galadriel said in a measured tone. "What would have been the fate of the elves had we, the ring-bearers, chosen to desert our peoples? Though one might argue that our poor health upon our arrival to these shores was of our own making."
"Perhaps that fate would have been averted, had not your own arrogance led to the retaining of those rings in the first place," Olwe icily remarked.
"Must we stoop once more to the repetition of the follies of years long past, if such follies they were?" Elrond asked wearily. "Let us focus upon the matter in hand."
Círdan sat back in his chair with a sigh, shaking his head as the expected stir shook the council. Glancing briefly at him and wishing, not for the first time, for support, Elrond listened with increasing resignation to the irritated volley of words that greeted his comment. No word spoken by the Lower Council would be acknowledged by those wiser in the ways of the governing of Aman. The disparagement Elrond constantly faced while dealing with them he knew to be a product of his failure to have claimed a lordship over any realm, and indeed his lack of desire to do so. The words of a mere healer, regardless of his authority in Middle-earth, were not enough to grant him ear to the long established Upper Council. Elrond stirred restlessly in his chair. The only member of the Lower Council with a domain to his name - save Galadriel and she was held in lower regard than Elrond for being a descendant of the kin-slayers - was Círdan. And he had not the assertive nature to make his views heard.
A hand briefly touched Elrond's thigh and he looked to Ereinion, murmuring softly, though there was little chance he would be heard above the conflicting diatribes continuing around them.
"What is it?"
"This is ridiculous," Ereinion replied, barely moving his lips. "Círdan will do as he sees fit, and while the Council will not condone his actions, it will not prevent him, and so this very meeting is but a farce."
Elrond nodded fractionally, and Ereinion sighed.
"Waste of everyone's time," Oropher added. He was seated beside Ereinion, for he too was interested in the politics of Aman.
Elrond pressed a finger briefly to his lips, though he added to the gesture the barest of agreeing nods.
And yet the debate continued, for hours that dragged endlessly into the long twilights of Aman, the conversations tiresomely circuitous, resulting with the very conclusion that Ereinion had predicted long before sunset. It was with a profound sense of relief that Elrond later collapsed into bed, settling beside Ereinion and closing his eyes gratefully. Ever since Ereinion's nightmare about the kinslayings, the younger elf had taken to coming to him at night. Initially it had been only to talk into the early hours of the morning, but so often had they drifted into dream that Elrond had ceased waking Ereinion to send him back to his own chambers. They commonly slept the nights together now, for Elrond's half human blood gave him need of nightly rest, and Ereinion's youth meant that he too needed more hours of true sleep than just the half-waking dreams of the elves.
Elrond listened to the creak of the bedsprings as Ereinion shifted to lie on his own side of the bed, his customary restless shifting, for his need for sleep was considerably less, keeping Elrond for a little longer from the blissful realms of unconscious slumber. Yet the habit was so familiar, he did not protest. Instead he listened to the croaking of the night bugs beyond the walls of the bedchamber, and the faint sound of a lute entertaining those whose invitation he had politely declined - the offer of a walk in the grounds, or a glass of miruvor with Círdan and Glorfindel. Much though he would have welcomed passing a few more peaceful hours in the company of his old friends, Elrond did not wish to inadvertently express his ever-increasing irritation with Círdan. Though the elder elf's fault it was not, Elrond fervently wished Círdan was of the nature to speak more strongly into discordant situations. The Upper Council had held sway too long. And time continued to pass.
Elrond and Ereinion had retreated once more to the library, to examine yet more histories of the years of the Second Age. Círdan was absent from the House of Valinor, having put his great ship to sea once the clearer waters of spring had arrived. He was returning yet again to Middle-earth, against the will of the Council, to collect more of their dwindling kind. Yet, though it had been his choice to spend a few hours in the library before Elrond would be confined to the healing halls, his hands filled with the new arrivals, Ereinion was finding the text before him inadequate distraction for his thoughts. He was restless, in mind and body, wanting something he could not name and did not understand. It was as though there was knowledge he desired; yet he could not determine what it was he sought.
He flipped over a page restively, re-reading for the fifteenth time a paragraph inked in copperplate script: As ever with the high king came Elrond Peredhel, lord of Imladris, herald to our lord Gil-galad, and the closest of his confidants and counsellors. There was something in the wording of the sentence that puzzled him, though he knew not what it was. Frustrated, he clenched his fingers until the paper crumpled. It was still strange to see his name in ink; written by a hand he did not know, about a time he recalled only in patches whilst the author seemed an authority upon the subject. He traced the letters with a fingertip, as if to erase them; but they stain of the ink remained upon the paper, for it, like his former life, could never be undone.
Ereinion frowned, this time deliberately reading the sentence over again: ...and the closest of his confidants... Just what did that mean? It was probably, he realised, another example of the belief that Elrond and he had been lovers. Ereinion shook his head, silently marvelling at the ability of elven kind to interpret so much and reveal it in the most discreet sentence. Was there any in Middle-earth who had not believed them heart-brothers? Oropher, clearly, or he would no doubt have used it to ill effect before now, Ereinion bitterly surmised. He released his hold on the ancient parchment before he tore it in the sudden wave of anger that shook him again, remembering Oropher's mocking tones reciting the ballad during the banquet. And surely Galadriel would not have married her only child to Elrond had she for a moment believe that someone else could hold prior claim to his heart. Ardis... Ereinion paused, suddenly uneasy. She, over the recent years, had made several veiled references to just that. Could he believe her? Though she was close friend to him her memories were far less than his and she cared little to recall anything, let alone something that would have been relatively minor in its effect upon her.
It is not as though you recall being in love with him! Ereinion reprimanded himself. Will you allow yourself to be swayed by the anonymous rumourmongers and the strange sensations that the time of physical awakening evokes? He lifted his head for the hundredth time and forced himself to look, really look, upon Elrond to stir the truth from the inconstant, half-spun web of memory.
The elder elf was seated at the other side of the table, quite oblivious to the agitation of his companion. Elrond was deeply immersed in his text, his eyes only shifting from the volume he held open in the palm of one hand to refer to inked sheaves of parchment lightly clasped in the other. When, by chance, the older elf looked up, it was only briefly to flash a smile at his companion and then turn back to his reading.
Ereinion, however, caught his breath. The fleeting glimpse of the silver-touched eyes sent a sudden shock wave throughout him. A fierce sensation of warmth spread upward in a fan from somewhere inside his very core. Mesmerized he continued to gaze at Elrond. Fallen across his face, the dark curtain of his hair shone like burnished mahogany. His years lent a beauty to his sculpted features. Faint lines of concentration, etched upon his brow, were testament to his dedication to the lore the passing of time had failed to dim his interest in. It was as if, as Ereinion watched, the world seemed to blur about the edges and then, they were no longer sat inside the house of Valinor, but in another place, Lindon, with Elrond shedding his years, yet with his head still bent over a book, that night-hued fall of hair spilling forth to frame his face, his braids dangling before the thick curtain. Ereinion felt the weight of a silver circlet upon his brow as he eyed the younger Elrond, regarding him not with the simple fondness of a friend and counsellor, but as one who loves the object of his attention, not merely loves, but is part of, owns and belongs to in turn...
He had never before known such intensity of emotion. Love, simple love, would have been so much easier, though in past years he had cursed the whole concept. For one who had many close friends, Ereinion had taken no previous lovers. Too cautious, too aware of his duty and often weary of dealing with the emotions of the people with whom he had to interact, without adding to the number. Friends fulfilled the role that a lover would supportively and there was no strong need for a partner simply to please the flesh. He had not expected to find anyone who could partner his soul, indeed he had believed it almost impossible, for his tastes ran towards the male gender predominantly and it was still fairly widely believed that one could only find one's true partner in a being of the opposite sex. Though many took lovers among those of their own gender, few were permanently bound.
He had not been prepared for the steady grey gaze that seemed to see through clothes, through flesh, to the soul beneath. Nor that hand and heart could be held in the same grip. But there it was, fierce, undeniable, and beyond resistance. From the initial meeting, they understood each other, growing to read each other like a child's wide-scripted book, knowing the meaning of each little gesture, each expression, or lack thereof.
And they had been manacled apart by society and circumstance, for Elrond Peredhel became the squire of the high king, his scholar, and later his herald. Fearing rumours that Gil-galad would be seen as manipulating the younger elf, going against the very nature of elvin kind, they had stayed apart. Suspicion ran high in the dangerous times that they lived in. And a distance built between them, the strain making relations curt, misinterpreting actions, words, and shortening tempers.
Then, though what prompted the change Ereinion did not know even now, he had risen one night, when all other members of the palace had retired, and to Elrond's chamber gone. The younger elf was awake, standing out on his balcony, gazing into the night. Ereinion had gone to him, spoken to him of his sadness at the tension between them, of how much he missed Elrond's companionship and then, surprised at how much courage he had to summon to speak it aloud, added quietly: "I love you."
The words were not unknown to them, for they had spoken them before, yet the meaning in them changed. Not as friends, nor even those in love who cannot consummate it, then laced with bitter undertones. Gil-galad admitted with those words a willingness to defy the expectations of his people in order to satisfy the longing of his soul.
The change had not been instant, for there was the breach between them to heal, with words and shared companionship, but the evening before Elrond's centennial, they had completed the rites of lovers in sharing bodies as they had heart and soul. They had spoken of it before, yet made no date nor time to act upon it. The night had taken them by surprise.
The stars were unusually bright, the air tingling with anticipation like a charmed snake stirred by a song to hover, waiting. Elrond's chamber, to which Ereinion frequently stole after moonrise, was bathed in moonlight, consecrated and washed with the magic of the night. Elrond was restive, making no real efforts to prepare for bed, though the water in the washbasin was rapidly cooling, its fine steam rising and wafting out of the window.
A frustrating day had left Gil-galad with the deep desire to fall into the arms of one who loved him and find comfort in their shared embrace. He shed his formal garments quickly, stripping to his breechcloth and then paused, watching Elrond curiously. The younger elf shifted from foot to foot, picking things up, putting them aside; his restlessness was clearly apparent. Gil-galad moved to his side, placing his hands upon the tense shoulders and kneading them with his fingers. His features illuminated by the ivory moonlight, Elrond was beautiful. His hair mahogany-dark and his eyes glowing almost silver in the night's spotlight.
"You are on edge tonight," Gil-galad said, slightly amused by the younger elf's antics and curious as to what was on the mind of his beloved.
Elrond made a non-committal sound in his throat, shifting his shoulders beneath Ereinion's hands and tilting his head back. The motion brought his spine and buttocks into contact with Ereinion's chest, and lower, causing a frission of desire to run through him. It was growing ever harder to say goodnight and then sleep, but Ereinion had disciplined himself often, not intending to rush his much-younger lover into anything, however much he desired it. He had pushed Elrond far enough already, showing him many of the ways they could pleasure each other without demanding the full rites of coupling; some, he ruefully admitted, he was not certain Elrond had been quite ready for.
Ereinion sucked in his breath as Elrond deliberately leaned into him, urging their bodies into closer contact and shifting his hips against his lover's groin. The elven king slid his hands down over the front of Elrond's chest, his fingers splayed to stretch the fabric of Elrond's robes across the sensitive skin below. Elrond twisted in his arms suddenly, reaching up to grasp Ereinion's braids. He lifted his lips to Gil-galad's, his own caressing and teasing, suckling upon a lower lip and his tongue slipping inside to probe the sweet regions of the willing mouth beneath his own. Ereinion arched against him, feeling the desire rising within and claiming Elrond's mouth in a deeper, more passionate kiss.
Desire built within him and he tightened his hold on the younger elf. His lips traced a path along the sleek curve of Elrond's jaw to the tightly furled point of an ear. The king caressed the intricate lines of the sensitive lobe, gently closing his teeth about the tender flesh and delighting with primal pleasure in the whimper elicited from the peredhel. Elrond's hands tugged upon the king's braids, guiding their lips together once more. His mouth closed over Ereinion's urgently and another soft cry escaped him. Gil-galad's hands roamed the younger elf's body, slipping inside the confines of Elrond's tunic to caress the tender flesh beneath. His fingers traced the muscular chest, swirling patterns around the stiff peaks of nipples. Elrond's repeated gasps broke their kisses, his fingers clutching at Gil-galad's forearms. Ereinion let his hands slide down to cup the younger elf's buttocks, and recaptured the parted lips with his own.
"Touch me," he commanded in a whisper, kissing and then nipping the thin-skinned point of an ear.
Elrond nodded, bringing his lips briefly back to Ereinion's, leaning their foreheads together and drawing a steadying breath.
Then Elrond flexed his hips, gently propelling the king back toward their bed and pressing a long leg between Ereinion's so that he fell back across the mattress, leaving Elrond standing between parted thighs.
Elrond's nimble fingers made swift work of the confining breechcloth that hindered his king, reaching down to assuage the need he had created. The moonlight was blinding as Ereinion tipped back his head, the stars of the sky, visible through the window beyond, scattering in his vision as Elrond teased and tormented him. Then, quite suddenly, he stopped, leaving Ereinion gasping and unfulfilled. The king struggled into a sitting position, groaning softly at the effort, watching with confusion while Elrond began to disrobe.
The younger elf's fingers were trembling slightly and it was not the draft that caused him to shiver as his last stitch fell away, baring him in the natural spotlight of the moon to the king's hungry gaze.
"Elrond," Ereinion managed to say. " Ai! You tax my control to its limit. How much I want you..."
"I know," Elrond tried to smile, but missed it slightly. "I want you too."
He moved to the bed, hesitant but without pausing. He knelt then, astride Ereinion's hips. The satiny touch of his naked flesh sent seductive tingles through the trapped king and he slid his hands along Elrond's thighs. The younger elf caught his breath, tensing slightly and then leaned down to kiss his lover, his lips quivering against the king's.
"I want you to lose control," he whispered. His eyes were smoky and intense, his meaning clear.
Ereinion slipped his arms around the younger elf, pulling them into closer contact until the warmth from both their bodies coursed through him like a fiery toxin. He kissed Elrond, fiercely at first and then more gently, soothing the apprehension away. He did not question, he could not; it was all he could do not to do exactly as Elrond said. But instead, he gently laid the younger elf upon the sheets, shifting to lie atop him, entwining their legs together and kissed Elrond again. The half-elf relaxed against him and, when Ereinion lifted his head once more, there was no further uncertainty in the silver gaze, only trust and greatest affection.
Ereinion moved slowly, assuring that Elrond knew only pleasure from his actions, touching, kissing and caressing every inch of the marble flesh, probing and preparing until Elrond groaned beneath him and demanded in a breathless gasp that he make haste and cease his caution. Their bodies melded and Ereinion felt too the moments of pain experienced, for Elrond's nails bit deep, bloody crescents into the flesh of his lover's arms. Ereinion soothed him then, though he fought with all his will to control his own raging internal flames of desire, kissing his lover's brow and lips, his fingers gentling the silken mane of hair. They moved as one, falling together into Elrond's centennial, blessed by the moonlight and wrapped in each other's essence.
Ereinion jerked out of his reverie. Momentarily he was dazzled by the brightness of the sunlight around him, for he half-expected the cloak of night. His heart pounded in his chest, leaping against the bars of his ribs; echoes of it beat in his throat and thundered against his temples. He gazed at Elrond, the emotions of his recollection swamping him. He half lifted a hand to his head, as though expecting to find atop his head the silver crown he had worn for an eternity. It was long gone, but the emotions he felt did not fade as he watched Elrond, hypnotised by the quiet peredhel, and paralysed by the strength of the love that he felt, not less but more strongly now than even in his memory. He rose suddenly from the table, laying aside his scripts and taking a few steps into the centre of the room.
Ereinion's abrupt movement stirred Elrond from the writings in which he had been enveloped. "Are you well?" Elrond lifted his head, slightly surprised; he had been so immersed in his own reading he had ceased to be aware of even the chair upon which he was seated. He rose too, moving to Ereinion's side, concerned. The younger elf wore a dazed expression, his brow crinkled and his eyes slightly unfocused.
"Yes." Ereinion spoke as though from a long way off, his reply sounding unconvinced and unconvincing.
He turned then to look at Elrond, his midnight gaze becoming intense as he stared at Elrond, as though he could read the thoughts in his head or the soul inside. He stood so close and made no move to step away; the brush of his aura stroked along Elrond's skin. And then, slowly, deliberately, Ereinion lifted a hand to cup Elrond's cheek. Though the gesture was unmistakable, Elrond hardly realised what was happening until it came. If he had, he knew he should have stepped away, asked if the younger elf knew what he was doing, what he was asking for. Whether or not he could have done, he would never discover. After so many years of quelling what he felt, of forcing himself to know that Ereinion did not remember their love, Elrond stood, frozen in temporary ignorance, as Ereinion brought his lips to Elrond's.
The satiny brush of lips against his mouth, the tug at his hair as the younger elf's fingers slid through his tresses, tangling amid the dark braids was so familiar, Elrond's resolve shattered. His hungry heart drank in the touches he had sought for so long, beating to a wild, desperate rhythm. He melted into the kiss, reaching for Ereinion's free hand and grasping it tightly, possessively, and clutched the locked digits to his chest. He wrapped his other hand atop that precious vice and pressed his lips to Ereinion's in turn.
It was as if time stood still, for the sounds of the sea beyond the window fell into silence, though the wind passing through it stirred their scripts upon the table, rippling the pages like leaves in a spring breeze and flapping them backwards as though to turn back time in that moment.
It was Ereinion who eventually broke the kiss, reluctantly drawing away to study Elrond, with his eyes darkened to indigo and his lips parted as he caught his breath. Elrond simply stood, unable to speak or even to think, seeing only the recognition within the sapphire orbs. The kiss tingled upon his mouth. Ereinion's fingers still gripped his own. Reality settled around them. It was impossible, yet it had happened. For all his own hoping that one day this moment would come, Elrond had schooled himself to put it aside. For one thing, it had been daily torture to see Ereinion as a child and still desire the elf he had been; to know that in time, this could be sated had only served to make more painful the harsh barrier of Ereinion's years and memories. For another, as both Círdan and Glorfindel had warned him, Ereinion could easily react ill to particularly powerful memories. There had been a very real chance that he would remember the bond they had shared and then shy away, unable to re-consummate it as he could so easily come to shun his past, or worse, knowing Elrond to be married, be angered and refuse to accept it. Elrond knew he should have pulled away, stopped, tested the ground first and yet, for all his strength thus far, he knew this one area found him desperately weak.
Ereinion smiled then, a soft, pleased smile. He touched Elrond's hair again, almost reverently. "I know why I know you now, why I have known you all along," he said, in a curious, almost satisfied voice. "We were in love. I remembered, really remembered this time. It was not the same as the other memories I have had before. Every other time, it has been like watching a play, one so familiar that I knew the words, yet I was never really a part of it. This time, I was myself, I could remember it happening to me, rather than standing outside my own body and witnessing it happening..." Ereinion broke off, looking exasperated. "And I am not making any sense am I?"
Elrond, still swaying slightly from the overwhelming surge of emotion that rocked inside him, managed to smile. "I do know what you mean. You felt part of the memory, rather than merely knowing it to belong to you."
Ereinion nodded, his fingers still entwined with Elrond's. "Or thinking it was my own creative fabrication." He smiled a little sheepishly as Elrond arched a surprised eyebrow. "For the memories though, it was as if all that happened before, happened to someone else, Gil-galad, the king; the person everyone else remembers, while I look on. Except this time, it was not like that. It happened to me, a long time ago, but it was still me."
Elrond slipped his arms around Ereinion's waist, sliding his hands up the strong back. The younger elf held him close, both delighting in the nearness that they shared.
"I should not have done that, should I?" Ereinion sighed suddenly. "And nor should you, for you are now married..." He frowned, his expression growing slightly harder, and he stepped back reluctantly.
Elrond took a deep breath. "Now comes a time when I must explain myself to you. I hope you will hear me...and, oh Elbereth, I hope that you can forgive me," Elrond did not mean to utter the last words aloud; they were barely whispered as his voice trailed off, but they were heard.
"Talk to me," Ereinion said, looking noticeably apprehensive. "I think I need to hear this."
Elrond nodded, steeling himself for a tale he had no idea how to tell. "I do not know how much you have remembered of our relationship as it was then, but I think it will not hurt to mention that we were heart-brothers for over a thousand years." Elrond paused, struggling to find the words to convey the story, without falling too far into his own emotional chaos. "After you were lost, I was approached by the Lady Galadriel and asked to wed her daughter." He paused again, recalling all too well the numbness that had enveloped him at her words, how his ears had rung with the silence, the discord in his spirit's song viciously struck. I hope you know how much I feel for you...how much it hurts me to tell you this.
"A hundred years had passed away, an acceptable time of grieving to allow to anyone who had not followed a lost lover to the Halls. Our kingdoms, the Golden Wood and Rivendell, were the two most powerful remaining strongholds for our people. Galadriel sought alliance, the preservation of the dwindling bloodlines of our kin, in short, a political match. Celebrían was willing to accept this for she had no other lover to whom she would wish to be bound and she was greatly aware of the necessity of the joining of our sanctuaries. I agreed." He glanced up at Ereinion. "There was nothing left for me but my duty. I did it for that alone." He braved the steady stare for another few heartbeats and then sighed, dropping his gaze once more. "I could not follow you to the Halls, though Elbereth knows, I wished it. I even willed it, though I knew as I did so that the blood of men that runs in my veins would not permit that freedom from my misery."
Ereinion's fingers tightened around Elrond's hand, the grip sympathetic and yet painfully hard. "Do not speak so," he whispered urgently. "I am glad you could not."
His vehemence conveyed the value that Glorfindel too had been known to place upon life, far greater than any other of the elves that Elrond knew. Rather than dwell upon what clearly was found disturbing, Elrond continued.
"Celebrían and I were together for nearly two and a half thousand years and during this time she bore three children, our twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir, and our daughter, Arwen. I grew to love her, over that long, long period of time, and first only as the mother of my children. She was kind to me. She did not ask of me love, yet she bound herself willingly to her duty and never sought love elsewhere. We were, in the early years, confidants, counsellors and supporters, but as our children grew, we came to love each other. I think she could have done so before, but I could not. I could not bear to." Elrond broke off, lifting his eyes to meet those of his first and dearest love. Ereinion's gaze was unnervingly unwavering. His dark, cobalt eyes were trained steadily on Elrond's face, listening intently. "Ereinion, I am so sorry," Elrond closed his eyes painfully, letting his head fall to rest upon his palm; unable to hold the penetrating stare any longer.
Ereinion held up a hand. "Do not apologise." His voice revealed little of his internal thoughts, a state so rare it cut Elrond to the soul. "It was your duty to marry. You did only what you had to do."
Elrond nodded."So many things could not have come to pass without my marriage, and I believe Galadriel was aware of these when she spoke with me. Yet it was poor consolation for me at the time, and I fear it can serve you little comfort now."
"We were high king and herald, Elrond, matrimony could hardly have been a state we together could have attained." Ereinion spoke unemotionally.
Elrond shook his head, acknowledging the truth in that. "Not perhaps in Middle-earth, but here..."
"Aye, perhaps it would have been different. But you could not have known that. Was it not the curse upon my line that the kin-slayers and their descendants would never return to Arda after their demise?" Ereinion sounded briefly slightly acerbic. "A faint hope to cling to that such a doom might be waived. No, Elrond, you did what you had to."
The truth in the words, though undeniable, did not ease the hard knot of guilt and grief intertwined that garrotted Elrond's heart and lungs as he stared at the grain of the table.
Ereinion sighed, a harsh, sharp sound in the heavy, uneasy silence. "I apologise for my actions, Elrond. I should not have..."
"Do not apologise!" Elrond's head snapped up sharply and he gripped the hand Ereinion had tried to withdraw. "Do not dare to!"
Ereinion raised his eyebrows, drawing tension lines across his brow. "No?" He spoke curtly. "Elrond, you are married, and the sacred oaths of our people are neither lightly sworn, nor easily retracted. The Valar rarely grant permission for broken bonds. And why would you wish to - you said yourself that you love Celebrían."
Elrond shook his head, mentally cataloguing another failure in his life's history. "You have not yet heard this tale in full. Of what I speak now," Elrond sighed, a fleeting twinge of guilt tugging at his heart as he considered the betrayal he was to exact on another that day. "I beg you never to allow it pass your lips again. It is not mine to truly tell, and yet it must be told, lest we continue to misunderstand each other."
Ereinion ran his thumb lightly over the slightly tarnished golden ring encircling Elrond's forefinger, and then lifted his gaze to Elrond's once more. "As you wish. Continue then."
"Celebrían one day requested permission to visit her parents in Lothlórien. She went there often and I saw no reason to refuse her. I was to organise a party to accompany her for our territories were no longer secure as the shadows grew once more from the Dark Lord. But I was called away upon duty before we could arrange for her to leave. It was told to me that the numbers of the Dark Lord's forces had been killing messengers between the kingdoms of Rivendell and the Golden and Green Woods. I sent my sons to ride with their mother and also Erestor. But, by the time they reached the stables, she had gone, ridden out in impatience and unaware of the danger. She took with her but one guard and he was killed when the Orcs attacked them at the approach to the Redhorn Pass. My sons followed in her wake, but she had too great a start upon them and they found few traces of her and were plagued by Orcs themselves in their searches. For a period of a week, maybe more, she was tortured in the caverns of the Orcs.
"Elladan and Elrohir found her eventually, and brought her home to Imladris. But though my healing balms and charms worked their magic upon her body, she never truly recovered. She left Middle-earth a year later, brought by Círdan to these shores for she found no pleasure in her home - or her family. I remained behind; duty once more bound me to my lands, for my children and my valley needed my presence. My sons are still there, guardians of Rivendell now, hunting the last of the Orcs. My daughter is wedded to the King of Gondor, a man I fostered for his childhood. None of them seem to wish to live the immortal life, having seen what affect it had upon poor Celebrían after her experiences.
"We are still married, Ereinion. But she no longer loves me, nor I her. There is too much time between us. We are, save in word, no longer married. She has my permission to, and I believe does, seek love elsewhere than in my heart...as I am free to do in turn."
Ereinion was quiet for a moment. His voice held almost an accusation as he remarked, "When I asked you before, you said that you were married."
"And so I am, but I did also say that few who did not know of it would realise this to be the case." Elrond gripped the younger elf's hand tightly in his own, willing Ereinion to understand him. "We do not ask permission of the Valar to retract out promises. By will we are bound, but by that same will we grant each other freedom."
Ereinion nodded slowly. Very vaguely he became aware of sensations growing within him. He felt light, detached somehow from the body that sat at the table, the hard edge that rested against his forearms and even the feeling of Elrond's hand closed around his own grew distant. He could hear Elrond's words running through his mind, dimly; pictures to accompany the words began to flow past him, faint and faraway, as though the scenes were set upon some distant horizon that his sight strained to see.
He felt, equally distantly, the echoes of emotions, first deep sadness as Elrond drifted alone in his agony of loss, then anger, dark and swirling that blazed red in his vision like blood spilled from somewhere deep inside. Elrond's emotions, or his own? His own... In that anger he felt a touch upon his mind, soothing, calming, that seemed to sparkle and cool like the trickle of water from a mountain spring. Nothingness followed on, a hollow void that ached and he tried to turn away from it. Then the calmness became his own and he sighed, reconnecting slowly with reality. He realised, with a slight shiver for the idea disturbed him, that he had felt the grief it had cost the older elf and felt again the emotions it had evoked in himself, as he drifted, out of time, in the Halls of Mandos, watching the turning of the earth and all that elapsed.
Glancing up at Elrond's saddened face, Ereinion squeezed his hand. "I understand," he said softly.
Elrond lifted eyes filled with wonderment to his beloved. He had dreaded the response to his tale, fearing that, even now, Ereinion would turn from him. Such unbearable scenarios had occupied him from time to time ever since the day he had spoken his consent to Galadriel. He had wretchedly wondered if his departed lord could know of what Elrond first believed to be his own treachery, praying to the lady of the starry night that Gil-galad would not loathe him from afar in the Halls in which he then resided. It seemed his prayers had been answered, for Ereinion's quiet words were suffused with such conviction and his eyes so reassuring that Elrond felt the coil of knotted agony around his heart ease its burning pressure. Elrond placed his other hand over Ereinion's, lowering his head once more to conceal the relief-invoked liquid that filled his eyes.
Then Ereinion rose suddenly, pulling away from Elrond as the full knowledge of what he had recalled washed over him. Drawing a memory from the depths of his subconscious had opened the mental barriers between that which he was to recall and that which should stay buried. In the upsetting of that equilibrium he had remembered, briefly, that which he should not have touched and now it made him shudder. The strange, bodiless sensations still lingering from his memory of the Halls made him stumble, unbalanced, as he stood and he clutched at the edge of the table. Elrond put a hand out to steady him and he stilled. The older elf rose, slipping an arm around his waist.
"Ereinion? Are you unwell?"
Ereinion shook his head. "I am fine...I just...I am fine."
"Shh, it is clear that you are not." Elrond touched the cheek that turned away from him. "What is wrong? Tell me, for I will not love you the less for admitting that there is something wrong."
"I..." Ereinion paused. "I remembered...another place, another time..." Barely able to speak it aloud for he was beginning to tremble at the recollection, he faltered again. "The Halls," he managed to say in a strained voice. "Oh dear Elbereth." Truly shaking now he turned, seeking comfort from the only source possible and Elrond opened his arms to hold him. "And..." he paused again, yet this time for a different reason. "You love me?"
Elrond's hand slid back into his hair, cradling his head. "I have never stopped loving you," he whispered.
Ereinion could find no words for that, save the only ones that came to mind without thought required. "I love you too."
"So what happens now?" Ereinion asked. Having abandoned their research in favour of fresh air, they were walking together along the cliff tops, the wind making their capes clap like sails in a gale and wind about their legs, impeding their progress.
Elrond exhaled slowly, his breath whisked instantly from his lips by the gusts that rippled the scrubby sea grass beneath their feet. "To us? What do you wish?" he asked carefully.
Ereinion stopped and faced him, his expression one of tolerant, amused, exasperation. "What do you think?" he chided.
Elrond smiled sheepishly, taking Ereinion's hand in his as they resumed walking. "What did you mean then?"
"Círdan, Celebrían," Ereinion glanced at him, his expression uneasy. "You would wish to tell her, I think."
"Yes, I shall," Elrond agreed. "But I cannot foresee that she will react unhappily to this. If you do not object, however, I would like to break it to her alone." At Ereinion's nod he continued. "As for Círdan... we have a little time to think upon that one. I would not for a moment suggest we should conceal this from him; it would not be fair."
"No, quite," Ereinion wholeheartedly confirmed. "But I am...apprehensive of his reaction."
Elrond nodded pensively, his thoughts drifting to the numerous attempts of the shipwright to create distance between them. "I do not think he will be upset," Elrond replied slowly. "I think he wanted only to give you the chance to form another partnership, if you were so inclined."
"I am not," Ereinion replied, very quickly.
Elrond raised an eyebrow, the strange silence following the interaction he had seen between Ereinion and Ardís taking on a new meaning. The younger elf volunteered no explanation, however, and indeed Elrond had not expected him to, for Ereinion was oblivious of Elrond's unwitting witnessing of the event. Considering that he had never spoken of it before, Elrond knew he would not raise it now.
"Are you certain that you wish to do this?" Ereinion asked suddenly, stopping once more to look at Elrond. His features were so serious that unexpectedly Elrond felt as though he were the child of the two, the weight of Ereinion's years falling upon him as the steady dark blue gaze held his eyes. "Elrond, be sure. I have been away a very long time, and I know that I am not exactly as I once was. If you think you can bridge the years between us, do you not think it is possible with Celebrían? Valar-blessed can be your partnership with her, whilst one between us cannot ever be simple, nor by their eyes approved. Do you know where your heart lies, or do you feel indebted to me?"
The words were so calmly spoken it would have been easy to overlook the unrest in the soul that had clearly prompted them. But knowing Ereinion as he did, Elrond did not miss it. Though he did not for an instant doubt his heart, he gave the words consideration long enough to form an answer that Ereinion would believe.
"I know exactly what the wishes of my heart are," Elrond replied firmly, and almost instantly, pausing only to explain himself. "Ereinion, what we shared was never simple, you know it as well as I do. It was no barrier then and it shall not be one now. Perhaps I could rebuild my relationship with Celebrían, but I doubt it. It would take her wish to do so, and I do not think that she is so inclined. Quite apart from that, our marriage was not a soul-partnership, whilst the relationship we shared was. And," Elrond continued, thinking of the words of the lady Elbereth when she had soothed his despair high among the cliffs, "I do not believe the Valar will disapprove."
Ereinion cast him a curious look, but kindly did not pry into thoughts not intended for his hearing. He eyed Elrond steadily for a few moments longer and then nodded. "I know you too well to think that you would speak lightly. I did not wish to doubt you but..." He shrugged.
Elrond nodded, understanding.
It was late when the returned to the House of Valinor, and the great starscape of Elbereth brightly sparkled overhead in the velvet cloak of the spring night. Dark, luminous eyes of the grazing horses glowed as the animals lifted their heads, ever curious at the activities of the elves after dusk. Between the trees a trio of elvin children, barely eight years of age, and light with the freedom of first lives, darted about in a complex game of catch, hiding between the shadows. Gailel was sat upon the steps, playing a lute and keeping an eye upon their activities; allowing Aranel the healer, and parent of the twin girls, a little time with his wife. Gildor came to sit with her, stroking her hair, and studying the playing youngsters with a fond, hopeful expression.
"Wishing for your own?" Ereinion asked teasingly, as he and Elrond mounted the steps.
Gailel glanced up, her dark eyes soft. "In a decade or so, gladly," she smiled.
"In a decade or so we shall, my love," Gildor promised. Turning to Ereinion he added: "Why, you would want them?"
Ereinion snorted with laughter. "Me? A parent? Never! I would be appalling."
"Negligent if my experiences were anything to go by," Elrond murmured in his ear, recalling his youthful years as Gil-galad's squire. "And corrupt."
He doubled up silently cursing as Ereinion elbowed him smartly in the stomach. "Fine one to talk that you are," came the return whisper, as Ereinion guided him into the house. "You make for an interesting guardian, Elrond."
"Aye, and you are an interesting charge," Elrond retorted. "I begin to pity Círdan. Tell me, did Fingon your father send you away because of the war, or was that just his excuse?"
"For getting me off his hands? Bite your tongue, Elrond!" Ereinion mock-scowled at him. "Then again, considering that this is the second time I have been fostered I suppose there is a pattern developing!"
"Fiend of a child," Elrond jested.
"I am no child," Ereinion replied, though the intended disingenuous tone was belied by the smile that curled his lips.
Elrond groaned inwardly, wondering if their relationship would not prove to be greater torment than before, now that Ereinion had recalled the extent of their affections. He had not the time to reflect upon this, however, for at that moment the door to the kitchens opened and Celebrían appeared, bidding farewell to the maid with whom she had clearly been speaking. Elrond touched Ereinion's elbow lightly.
"Return to our chambers, I shall join you in few moments."
Ereinion's eyes ticked to Celebrían and he nodded, briefly squeezing Elrond's fingers in farewell.
The gentle quiet of the early night hours seemed to harden into a silence stiff with anticipation as Elrond walked with Celebrían through the empty corridors of the Welcome House. Conversation between them was commonplace while Elrond postponed the moment of revelation, seeking words to kindly convey to his wife the changed state between Ereinion and himself. Though his enquiries into her occupations that day and her plans for the eve were genuine, his attentiveness to the answers was lacking. For her part she was quiet, answering only what he asked, as though she was aware of his meandering around a purposeful point and awaiting his arrival thereat.
They finally ceased their perambulations upon the veranda backing onto the sea, and gazed together across the vast expanse of water that had for so long divided them. Celebrían took a sip from a glass of cordial, and Elrond caught her curious glance in his direction. Lore-master that he had been through the passing of millennia, he found himself still unable to find words enough to speak of the truth to her. Though he feared not repercussions from the Valar - Elbereth's words sung clear within his heart - he recalled the sting of Celebrían's request, and was reluctant to similarly pain her.
"Celebrían," he spoke finally, and she offered him a smile and her full attention. "Wife you are to me still, if in name alone, and even that small bond we agreed would not be held between us. May I ask of you permission to relinquish my title husband?"
"You may ask," Celebrían replied with a slight smile and sipped her cordial. "And willingly would I grant it you. Ereinion, has he...?"
Taking a deep breath, for the simple acknowledgement quickened the beat of his heart in delight, Elrond nodded.
"Oh Elrond! That is...wonderful." Celebrían's joyful tone caught slightly, but she leaned forward to kiss his cheek, swiftly covering the pause. When she sat back again, she was smiling, a true, pleased smile. "Dear Elrond," she touched his face lightly, her eyes sparkling. "Glad I am to hear that so! All is well between you both, dare I assume?"
"It would seem so, yes," Elrond replied, his voice sounding miraculously calm even to his own ears, despite the smile he could not hide.
Celebrían hugged herself like a little girl, slopping her cordial onto her skirts, and smiled again. "Good," she wholeheartedly approved. "Oh good! I wish you both well, for now, and for ever."
She kissed him again, her arm looping around his neck for a brief, fond squeeze, and for several moments they sat then in silence, absorbing the glad tidings.
"It is strange," Celebrían said, after some time had passed away in companionable quiet, the sound of the waves and the musical laughter of the youngsters playing at the front of the house the background to their serenity. "I did not expect that to hurt, and yet..." She shook her head.
"It does," Elrond quietly finished.
She darted him a swift glance and nodded, her expression mildly puzzled. Elrond too was silent, the acknowledgement between them arousing a peculiar sense of estrangement, as though something had been irretrievably broken that could never be rebuilt. Long had they known that their former love had not survived the division of water and the passage of time, but then they had never been, for want of greater description, in love. There had not been the innate, unbreakable attraction between them, which slotted their hearts and souls into each other's bodies as though a piece of each belonged with the other. But then, such was not the way of all partnerships that endured, even between the elves. And the ocean and the seas of changing time had not sundered the friendship between the lord and lady of Imladris. Elrond wondered briefly what would have become of them had their children, the source from which their love had sprung, had travelled overseas. But that had not been their fate, and idle speculation altered it not. The final unofficial tie between them was now lost, and the slight pangs of sorrow they shared in memory of what had once been. Yet in friendship and love they could gladly welcome the new contentment each had found.
Ereinion was pacing around the chamber, dressed in the elder elf's robe when Elrond returned. His movements were languid and idle, as he walked through the moonbeams that dappled the flagstones, the obsidian hues of his hair shining with ivory lights. Elrond caught his breath for a moment, recalling numerous years in Lindon, when he had returned late from the libraries to find the king waiting for him, or, in reversed roles, impatiently awaited Ereinion's return from duty elsewhere. The younger elf turned as the door opened, smiling in welcome, the glint of similar shared memory in his eyes as Elrond latched the door closed. Crossing the room he gathered Ereinion close, feeling the strong arms slip to embrace him tightly, and let his lips find their familiar sanctuary in the kiss of his beloved.
"How does Celebrían fare?" Ereinion asked after a few moments, breathlessly drawing back to study Elrond's face.
"She grants us her blessing," Elrond replied simply, kissing Ereinion again.
Ereinion's lips yielded below his, the responsive suckling and nibbling of his lower lip making Elrond tighten his embrace. The younger elf tensed almost unconsciously, and with an effort, Elrond restrained himself, taking a step back and rubbing Ereinion's silk-clad shoulders. With a final caress of the dark hair that Ereinion leaned luxuriously into, he moved away and began to remove his own clothing. He carefully kept his back turned and his body screened with another robe from his dresser, not for modesty, but to keep a physical barrier between them. When he turned, the younger elf had inserted himself between the bed sheets, Elrond's robe still firmly in place. Gratefully Elrond moved to the bed and settled himself alongside the youngster, though even that ritual, so common for so many nights, now seemed fraught with newness. Ereinion glanced at him, and then shifted to lie upon Elrond's side of the bed, possessively claiming it, and comfortably breaching the natural divide that had been there before. Elrond nestled gladly into the younger elf's arms, resting his cheek against Ereinion's shoulder.
After a moment, Ereinion propped himself up on one elbow, leaning over to kiss Elrond. His lips brushed Elrond's, lightly at first and then, as Elrond raised one hand to cup the back of his lover's head, contentedly deepened the kiss, suckling on Elrond's lip. When he drew back, the sapphire of his eyes was warmed with the smile that also touched his lips. Ereinion's fingers stroked over the lapels of Elrond's robes, resettling a crooked corner. He bent his head, touching their lips together once more, only to draw back, then steal another kiss and another, reluctant to move away.
Yet he proceeded no further, for though his mind could grasp a thousand ways to progress, the uncertainty in his youthful flesh held him prisoner. His body, though a replication of the one in which his previous life had existed, was still new to many things and it showed in the chastity of the younger elf's touches. With apparent ease, he was able to settle, finally lowering his head to the pillow and wrapping an arm around Elrond's waist. His chin rested upon his lover's shoulder and his breath stirred faintly against Elrond's neck.
It was Elrond who lay awake, forbidden need pulsing through his body. Ereinion's fingers unconsciously stroked Elrond's ribs as he drifted from the half-conscious state of sleep to the deeper slumber. Shivers tingled along Elrond's skin at the touches, making him quiver inside. Beneath the skin his blood pumped faster, his heartbeat thundering as the sensations quivered down to his groin. A stifled moan escaped him as Ereinion's hand slid down his abdomen as the younger elf relaxed into sleep. His skin blazed as each sleepy touch brought fiery passion burning through him. He bit his lip, sweat breaking out across his brow and spine as he tried to move away and the bed sheets rubbed against his groin. A gasp fell from his lips and he sucked in his breath, his body aching as he resisted the desire that flowed through him.
He rose eventually, slipping out into the starlight that stretched into infinite forever high above the balcony, to assuage his need in private, and then quietly returned to the chamber. Cleansed and relaxed he nestled back into Ereinion's arms, smoothing his fingers through the youngster's soft, dark hair. Child he is still, Elrond firmly reminded himself, for Ereinion would come to spend increasingly less time asleep as he aged, whilst Elrond would always require a few hours in concession to his half-human bloodline. And while he was a child, Elrond silently vowed, he would not allow reckless passion to rule him. In love, in trust, he would wait until Ereinion's fiftieth year before he allowed the physical reaffirmation of their bond to occur. However hard that might prove to be.
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