The wall of heat flared up, and the very air seemed to burn. The northern fire swept across the spread tableau and spread into the eastern and western flames. Leaping to his feet, Elrond cast a quick glance at the swiftly retreating elves. Ereinion was on his feet several paces back from the angry swirl of crimson and amber. The flames leapt high, flaring with blue and violet, and illuminated his face. His eyes were wide with surprise, his skin glowing copper with the reflection of the flames. To his right, Galadriel kicked earth over the southern fire, immediately stifling it. Elrond felt a hand thrust a wooden bucket into his arms and he sluiced the contents over the nearest blanket. Sweat ran into his eyes as bent, snatching up one end of the blanket, Círdan taking the other. Together they swung the water-laden blanket across the flames. On the other side of the fire, Glorfindel threw his water-soaked cloak across the leaping flames and Ecthelion's followed. Persistent sparks bit through the cloaks and savagely rose. More buckets of water, hastily filled at the stream, were slung across the circle. With a serpent's hiss of rage, the fire subsided, filling the air with acrid smoke. Coughing, Elrond fell back a pace, swiping the smoke from his eyes.
"Is anyone hurt?" he managed to say, through streaming eyes watching the younger elves stamping out the few remaining stray sparks, with varying degrees of nervousness and satisfied relief reflected across their faces.
"Nothing serious over here," Glorfindel stepped across the blackened ring of grass and sodden, charred blankets. The ends of his golden hair were slightly singed, and he was sucking the knuckle of his thumb, the skin a painful crimson from the flicking tongues of fire that had touched him.
There came no reply from the other side of the circle. Haldir had his arm around the shoulders of a pale, wet-eyed child, who was cradling an arm to her chest. Haldir himself had blood running down his cheek from where a flying shard of glass had struck him. Círdan was holding one arm stiffly, his sleeve hanging in burnt streamers.
"Nothing life-threatening," Haldir answered, swiping at a few strands of his blonde hair now tinged with crimson where they had stuck to his cheek.
Elrond cast his own cursory glance over the assembled elves, already gathering the remains of the night's entertainment from where it had been strewn in disregard, and then quickly moved to the injured trio. He knelt beside the youngest elf, sending Elenwe hurrying inside for a basin of water and some clothes.
"Elrond." Glorfindel was still staring at the place where Ereinion had been. "I think you should let the other healers attend to the injured."
Brethilas, who had come running down from the house with Elenwe at his side, had already motioned to Haldir to follow him and was moving toward the house. Haldir paused long enough to ascertain that Galadriel was uninjured before following the other healer inside to have his injury attended to.
"It will not take a moment, Glorfindel," Elrond replied, sparing a brief frown for his friend. He turned to Celebrían and sent her inside to find Aranel's wife, Aduial, mother of the little elf-maiden.
He bent his head to his task, knelt amidst the charred cinders of grass and cleaned another wound inflicted by flying glass. The young maiden, barely more than ten years of age, watched him with enormous eyes glassy with brimming tears that trickled occasionally down her cheeks in silence. She was trembling, more from the shock of the roaring fire, as far as Elrond could see. He murmured comforting words under his breath, feeling a flicker of relief as a smile finally touched her countenance when her wound was covered with a bandage.
Elenwe had returned with scissors and ointment to tend the few burns sustained and, seeing the girl restored to her mother, Elrond turned to Círdan. The shipwright let him run a quick eye over the burnt skin beneath his tattered sleeve.
"Elrond, let me see to Círdan," Glorfindel said, touching his shoulder. Elrond glanced briefly at him and the expression on his face made Elrond stop short. Glorfindel's features were drawn into furrows and his cerulean gaze scanned the trees behind their abruptly curtailed gathering. Elrond ran his eye quickly over the clearing, but Ereinion had disappeared. "I think you should go to Ereinion."
Celebrían, rescuing her lute from the dirt, looked up. "Ereinion is taking some of our things inside, if you are looking for him."
"How did he appear?" Elrond asked, scissors moving quickly as he cut away the blackened ends of Círdan's sleeve. He suspected he knew what Glorfindel was discreetly alluding to, but, unwilling to leave the injured, he shook the thought away. There could not be a parallel between the events that had elapsed on Mount Doom and a small fire gone awry...could there? Elrond paused, his gaze trained urgently on Celebrían as he awaited her answer.
"He seemed fine," Celebrían looked and sounded surprised. "He was making certain that everyone else was unhurt."
Elrond nodded, relieved, and Glorfindel shook his head, lifting a shoulder in resignation. "Do not leave him alone, tonight," he warned.
"I will not," Elrond replied.
The ashes crunched dully beneath his feet as he moved to take a pot proffered by Elenwe and painted a lotion containing aloe and comfrey onto the burnt, shiny skin of Círdan's arm. The shipwright regarded the injury ruefully and fingered his ruined robes with a sigh. Elrond glanced at his troubled features and offered the ghost of a comforting smile. "Ereinion seemed fine when he left the fire."
"I know," Círdan said, watching as Elrond tied a cloth over the pot of salve and handed it back to Elenwe with a nod of thanks. "Yet I fear," his eyes were worried when he met Elrond's gaze. "I fear that one day he will run and not return."
"I presume this is because of Celairos?" Elrond asked.
Círdan nodded. "Elrond, I let him go. Oh, he was quite different to Ereinion, far quieter and less temperamental, but he too liked a little time to gather himself when something upset or troubled him. The day he learned of his death, he ran from me. And I let him go." Círdan's eyes closed sadly. "I let him go, and he did not return. He threw himself from the cliff-top, as he had fallen in his first death. Ossë brought his body to me upon the beach."
Elrond was silent for a moment, the echoes of the shipwright's sadness weighing in the silence.
"Every time Ereinion runs from us, I fear..." Círdan sighed heavily. "I fear for him because soon he must learn of his death. I have watched him grow, watched him becoming the great man he used to be. One day he will be Gil-galad once more, in all his glory and I would have that time come. But not at the price he must pay for it. I would rather he be someone else, someone who has not to suffer that memory as he did the experience."
Elrond shook his head. "No, Círdan, no. That I could not bear. Ereinion is strong enough to withstand the recollection. And we will be there when he remembers."
Círdan bowed his head. "Great is the shame I bear to own this, Elrond, but I know not if I can be the support he needs. I am weary of seeing those whom I love suffer and die. Once before have I seen the destruction of this great man, let me not see the ruination of the child he is now."
"You will not," Elrond said quietly. "I will not let that happen."
Círdan smiled faintly. "He takes his strength from you, Elrond. He always has done."
"He has strength enough of his own," Elrond replied with assurance. "Círdan, you will not see a repeat of Celairos. Ereinion would not do that. Call it a fault, if you will, but he has too much pride. He would such suicide as a defeat, an insult. Quite apart from that Mount Doom is separated from us by rather a lot of water!"
Círdan managed to chuckle. "Aye, and it no longer even stands. Nay, you are probably right, Elrond."
"Nevertheless," Elrond admitted, quickly checking that all his equipment had been collected. "I will go to him now."
Parting from Círdan, Elrond wove his way through the maze of corridors that returned him to the chambers he shared with Ereinion. The younger elf was already present, standing at the window gazing out at the night. Elrond smiled, thinking of the numerous nights they had stood there, watching the stars pricking the silken canopy of the sky, and listening to the soft whispers of the breeze. Closing the door, Elrond shucked off his outdoor robe. Ereinion did not turn or even appear to notice his presence. Elrond paused, a frown flitting across his features as Glorfindel's warning echoed in his ears.
"Ereinion?"
The name hung in the silence.
Ereinion did not move. The silence stretched out endlessly between them. The breeze ghosted through the drapes, trembling the heavy, pine-dark cloth and a shiver passed over Elrond's skin. The sound of Ereinion's voice startled him.
"That was how I died, was it not?"
His voice was flat, expressionless. He turned then, his features drawn into a mask of unreadable neutrality. His eyes seemed to burn like wounds in the pallor of his face.
"Fire." He reached up to push aside his hair and his hand was shaking. "Was it not?"
Elrond could not speak. It was as though the ashes of the small blaze had lined his throat, drying up his voice. "Ereinion," he began hoarsely.
"Was it not, Elrond?" Ereinion's voice was low and steady.
Elrond hesitated. All the air seemed sucked from the room and the figure silhouetted darkly against the night-starred window wavered in his vision. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest and, very slowly, he dared to nod.
"Why did you not tell me?" The words were spat.
"Ereinion..."
"Answer. Me," Ereinion growled.
He was formidable in his sudden anger. He took a step forward, and Elrond gathered his will as he instinctively fell back a pace. Ereinion's eyes burned with a light of wrath Elrond had not seen since the days of the Last Alliance. The height he had gained on Elrond now caused him tower as the thunderclouds of fury darkened his face.
"I am trying," Elrond protested, fighting to stay calm.
Ereinion drew in a deep breath. Halted. Folded his arms. "Well?"
"How could I?" Elrond asked. "When last this subject was broached you did not wish to speak of it. It had to be you who raised this topic, in your own time. How was I to tell you - a child? How would I have found the words to convey it?"
"I am not a child!" Ereinion was shouting now. "I consent to many things because of the age of this body, but I am not a child! *When* will you stop treating me as such? The only damned reason I am like this is because I died. And no one will tell me what happened to me!"
The silence rang with the angry echoes of his words. They stared at each other, as though across some bridgeless chasm. An endless drop lay below. For a moment Ereinion's protective anger wavered and the elven king turned to his lover.
"Elrond, please."
Silently Elrond stared at him. He owed it to Ereinion not to shy from his gaze and he held the beseeching eyes even as his heart cracked in two and his courage failed him. The taste of ash in his mouth and the taint of smoke still in his nostrils brought a wave of dark horror surging blackly up inside him and his stomach clenched against the nausea it invoked. The truth hit him with sickening certainty. I cannot do this.
"Ereinion," Elrond let his eyes slide away, unable to look at Ereinion as he spoke. "There are things, as we have said all along, that you have to remember..."
"For myself." Ereinion almost whispered the words. He stared at Elrond, his wide-eyed gaze reflecting the bitterness of betrayal. "I cannot wait to remember this, Elrond." He laughed abruptly: a choked, humourless sound. "Without any idea how, or why..."
Elrond swallowed hard, feeling the dusty taste of ashes in his mouth, the sting of the acrid smoke in his throat. He swallowed again, struggling to find his voice. "The Last Alliance," he managed to say softly. His gaze still fixed upon the floor, he felt rather than saw Ereinion flinch. "Ereinion, you were very brave..."
"I do not care about that!" Ereinion cried out, and Elrond knew that he did not. Courage - or cowardice - the end had been the same. Perhaps later the knowledge would be of comfort to the warrior within. But not now. "I just want to know..."
He broke off, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he fought for control. Elrond watched, his guilt leaving him empty inside. He could feel the fear Ereinion battered beneath his restraint; it choked the air and vibrated around him. The knowledge Elrond held loomed dark and overwhelming from the depths of his soul. The perishing agony of those moments upon Mount Doom, the knowing, the happening, the stunning, incomprehensible after... He closed his eyes in silent shame as he shied from the memories he could not bear. Do not make me do this, Ereinion. I cannot relive it. Ereinion, I am so sorry...
"Forget it, Elrond." Ereinion's clipped tones snapped the silence. He stalked to the door, and pulled it open, casting a single, angry glance back at Elrond. The door slammed behind him, and Elrond stood for a long time listening to the echoes filling the empty room.
The dawn was a long time in coming, and, when the sun rose, it bloodied the horizon with its crimson beams. His eyelids heavy with fatigue, Elrond watched the red sun rise and streak the clouds with scarlet hues. It had been over two decades since he had watched such an ill-favoured sun splice the horizon. In the coming seven days he would witness every morning that ill-boding sunrise. Elrond eased himself off the window seat. Every bone in his body seemed the weight of lead. So complete was his exhaustion that no thoughts entered his mind as he crossed to the basin. That was perhaps as well, for that night had been filled with musings, and none of them pleasant. He rinsed his face and hands, moved to the cupboard, searched out new robes and finally dressed.
He entered the great hall to find it crowded with the company of the previous night. Glorfindel and Ecthelion were attired in their breeches and tunics for travelling, their costume emblazoned with the emblems of their houses. Rivendell's crest and the mark of the Golden Flower were embroidered on the opposite sleeves of Glorfindel's tunic, and on the breast was sewn the mark of his new realm. Elrond had not seen the members of the lower council arrive, and now realised that it was a sign of visits paid on formal business to wear the crests of honour. It seemed strange to see the marks born without the chain-mail armour or weaponry strapped into place, but, as he reminded himself, until the coming of the Last Battle, there would be no need for such defences. Ecthelion was sat upon the edge of the table, his fingers absently smoothing through Glorfindel's hair; the Elda was seated on the bench, one arm resting over Ecthelion's knees.
Glorfindel was speaking to Ereinion, and, though the opening of the door prompted the Elda to smile in Elrond's direction, Ereinion did not even look up. Relieved to see the younger elf present at all, Elrond swallowed a sigh and crossed the room to take a seat opposite the trio.
"Good morning."
"Morning." Ereinion looked up, his features losing all expression, and he nodded curtly.
"A morning fair, and a morning bright, though touched with sorrow for we must depart," Ecthelion cheerfully said.
"Yes, I see that you are prepared," Elrond nodded. He sighed inwardly, glancing at Glorfindel with regret. Now more than ever before he needed the counsel of his eldest friend.
Soft green eyes caught his glance, and a frown flickered onto Glorfindel's brow. "It seems a pity to leave so soon. I had hoped to spend a little time with you, Elrond, before we returned to the mountains, but you were so busy in the healing wing." Glorfindel glanced at Ecthelion. "My lord, I beg a boon of you..."
"To remain here?" Ecthelion guessed. "Of course, Glorfindel. In fact I shall speak with Círdan now. If you have no objections I too shall remain, at least for another week. I can send word to the seneschals; I am sure that they can continue to manage the realms in our absence."
Glorfindel smiled. "Thank you."
Ecthelion rose at once. "Do we know where Círdan is?"
"In his suite, I assume," Ereinion answered.
"Would you call me a page? I do not wish to merely intrude."
Ereinion rose. "I will take you myself."
Glorfindel's eyes narrowed as the youngster fell into step with Ecthelion, walking from the table without a backward glance. He glanced at Elrond, and his former lord sank his head into his hands with a sigh.
"I believe I owe you an apology," Elrond said quietly.
Glorfindel frowned slightly. "I have not the pleasure of understanding you." Rising to his feet, he touched Elrond's shoulder lightly. "Come, let us take a walk."
Walking together along the cliff tops, the idle pace of the two elves in no way mirrored their internal thoughts that surged and crashed, like Osse's waves against the rocky shoreline. The spring tides swirled in the waters beneath, white horses with streaming manes leaping up against the cliffs only to shatter, fall back, and leap once more. Elrond's hair lashed around his face in punishing black tendrils. Glorfindel's, bound back for the trail, rippled golden in the breeze that swirled about them: Manwe's sprites dancing in the spring.
"You were quite right last night, to my sorrow," Elrond said, looking briefly at his former seneschal. "The incident with the campfire reminded Ereinion of Mount Doom."
Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. "Forgive me for saying so, but he seems remarkably composed if that is the case." He paused, adding gently. "If rather angry with you."
Elrond nodded, wondering if that was to be the way of things from now on. He has so much he could resent me for, and rightfully so.
"He wanted me to tell him what happened to him; he knows a little, but not all."
Glorfindel grimaced and nodded pensively. "Did you?"
Elrond shook his head. "No."
Stopping short he turned to Glorfindel, despair written in his speech. "Should I have done? I know not what to do for the best. And I know not if I can tell him..."
"It will not make a difference." Glorfindel took Elrond lightly by the shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. "Whether or nay you tell him, if he recalls this experience the knowing or not knowing of it will not make the event any easier or any harder."
"Will it not?" Elrond lifted his head, meeting the ancient eyes of the flaxen-haired warrior of Gondolin staring back at him from the flawless features of his former seneschal. "Glorfindel, if I tell him - if I can tell him - he will not understand, not truly. And if I do not tell him, he faces this unprepared. Is there nothing I can do?"
Glorfindel shook his head. "No. Elrond, you cannot tend the undamaged flesh and expect it to prevent an injury."
Elrond bowed his head, trying to pull away from Glorfindel, but the Elda did not release him.
"Elrond. There is nothing you can do to change the effect this will have on Ereinion. Tell him, if you can, if you feel that it may help; or hold your silence and let him remember. He has managed well with that so far. And be there when he calls for you."
"And if he does not?"
Glorfindel's lips twisted into a grim smile. "He will."
Elrond met the phoenix bright eyes once again, gazing at the familiar stranger who was his long-time friend. "There are hours, Glorfindel, when I know not if I think you are more dangerous with a blade, or cause me more fear with your words."
Glorfindel's smile lifted a little from its gravity. "Yet you run from neither, my friend."
Elrond chuckled. "I am a fool."
Glorfindel's laugh echoed his own and he drew Elrond into a brief embrace. "You are a brave creature, Elrond Peredhel. I am honoured to know you."
"You touch my heart and I love you well," Elrond replied, smiling. "I have much missed your counsel these last years."
Glorfindel took his arm and they continued to walk once more. "I have cruelly neglected you then. I am not so far away. If you have need of me send word, or far-speak me if you would not wait upon a messenger. I will always come."
"And I to you," Elrond reminded him. "Thank you."
For a time they continued in silence, their steps in unity, and their minds quieted.
"Speaking of friendships," Elrond remembered suddenly. "Erestor is here, if you want to speak to him."
"Yes, I saw him at the banquet last night," Glorfindel nodded, and then broke off, clutching at Elrond's arm. "Elrond! - I did not think - the twins...?"
"Were still in Rivendell before Erestor set sail. And Arwen is in Gondor. She has children, Glorfindel."
The Elda's expression of anxiety changed to a warm smile. "Would that we could see that. Her babes must be fine indeed. I wonder, though, how Estel is bearing the burden of state."
"I know not, though I warrant it will be with the strength and spirit he turns his hand to everything," Elrond replied. "When we have but a moment's peace I mean to speak with Erestor. I am surprised at him that he would leave..."
"He is of an age with you, my lord, and full elvin kin, perhaps his strength was failing. What of Lindir and Celeborn?"
"I hear that they are still in Rivendell, and will stay with my sons until..." Once again Elrond trailed off. The subject of death seemed raised too often here, in the very lands where it should not be seen or heard.
"Until they make their choice," Glorfindel said quietly.
Elrond nodded absently, though he sensed the half-lie in the spoken words. He feared the twins had made their choice.
It was not until late that evening that Elrond saw Ereinion again. The younger elf had spent much of the day in the practice wing, wielding his sword with unusual savagery. Elrond, occupied in the healing halls once more for duty did not cease no matter the need for respite, had silently observed him through a window. Ereinion worked long hours with the younger elves: coaching, pushing, taxing them to the very limits of their abilities with their blades. Elrond could almost feel the exhaustion in their bodies, the frustration in their hearts that was suddenly transformed into delight as Ereinion finally signalled for a rest and complimented them. He remembered the hours he had spent with Gil-galad upon the practice field, almost ready to throw down his sword in distress and return to the sanctuary of his books. Ereinion was demanding and pulled no punches with his own strokes, yet a single word of compliment became so much more after impatient shakes of the head and curt reminders that on a battlefield skill, speed and endurance were the difference between life and death.
Yet when the children retired, Ereinion turned and beat and beat and beat the practice dummy swinging innocently from its rope. Elrond watched with the unbearable ache of guilt tight around his throat as Círdan hurried to his foster-son's side. Ereinion leaned against the practice dummy, his hands gripping the mass of splintered twigs as he hid his face in his arms. Yet he straightened as Círdan came to him. Briefly they spoke, until Ereinion shook his head at a question, pushed aside a comforting hand, and walked away. As he did so he looked up, and caught sight of Elrond at the window. His expression, a mask of composure, did not falter for an instant and Elrond turned away.
But a scant half-hour later a sharp knock on the door came for him. Elrond answered it to face the forbidding countenance of his lover. Ereinion's hair, black-dark and still wet from bathing, formed a veil of shadow about his face. He spoke curtly the instant Elrond opened the door. "Elrond. A word with you, please."
The white lance of guilt shot through his stomach and, for a moment, Elrond caught his breath, then exhaled slowly. That particular tone of Ereinion's voice he had not heard in millennia and fervently wished he were not hearing now. Treacherous currents of anger flowed beneath the calm speech, each word biting into the air like the chilliest of winter winds.
"Gil-, " Elrond caught himself. "Ereinion."
He set aside his tasks, briefly confirmed with Aranel that his presence was not immediately required and stepped into the cool corridor, finding Ereinion pacing the short length of the passage, wall to wall, his hands clasped behind his back. The gathering dusk fell through the arched windows and cast long shadows behind him, black against the smoky twilight of the corridors. His eyes glittered with a reflection of the early stars, the expression within them unreadable.
"Yes?" Elrond asked quietly, closing the door and turning to face him.
Ereinion jerked his head in the direction of the council rooms and walked off without another word. Gritting his teeth, Elrond followed him without comment. They entered a small antechamber to the main meeting rooms and once more Elrond closed the door behind them.
"I wanted to speak with you about the matter of leading the Lower Council," Ereinion said without preamble. "I trust you slept suitably well last night, and are able to discuss the matter."
Elrond met the indigo-hued gaze and ground a sigh back into his chest. His tiredness hung about him like an ill-fitting cloak, visible to all. The over-bright glint in Ereinion's eye told the same story, however, and he did not rise to the remark.
"Proceed, Ereinion; what precisely did you wish to talk about?"
"It is clear from last night that neither Glorfindel or Galadriel either choose to, or are in a position to take over Círdan's duty as leader of the lower council. Of the Lower Council members, that leaves you remaining to assume his role. Of the unofficial members of this council there are only two elves. Mithrandir and the hobbits are obviously unable to dictate our government. Oropher is too young to assume such a role, mercifully, and although that would apply also to me, I have been asked. I wanted to ascertain your position in all this. Elrond, you are a capable lord and more than able to manage such a role as this. You have millennia of experience behind you and the faith of your people..."
"Ereinion, I do not want to do this," Elrond said quietly.
Above the steady cobalt gaze, the dark eyebrows rose. "Why not?"
"Does it really matter? I have many qualms about Círdan's handling of the Lower Council to date, and would wish him in a position of advisor instead of leader, but that is not to say I wish to take this role myself. I realise this means that virtually all of the lower council have excluded themselves from this duty, and if no one else truly wishes to do this then I will do what I must, even if that means taking Círdan's position myself."
Elrond rose with a sigh and walked to the cabinet, taking out a bottle of cordial and pouring two glasses.
"I have governed a realm for the last five thousand years. I created Rivendell from the wild valley it was, and remains. My time in Middle-earth was devoted to those halls, my creation, my home, my life. It has been passed into the keeping of my sons, and I will not make its like again. Thousands of memories echoed from its walls, its very familiarity was sanctuary, strength, and within it so much happened: for good, for bad. There will be no other place like it for me. I knew that when I left, and I had no wish to fade. But I cannot build another realm, not yet. I will, but I need a little time to remember who and what I am, without Vilya, without Rivendell, without those who worked endlessly alongside me for all those years, and without my family."
Ereinion did not speak, but a dark expression flashed in his eyes. He nodded curtly, indicating that Elrond should continue.
"That will not be enough for the Upper Council. Not one of them knew me in Middle-earth, and though from what I hear my reputation has reached here, that will not suffice. I have no blood ties to kindle their faith, and without a realm I am ever at a distance from the methods of government. I cannot presume to dictate to people how the realms should be managed when I do not have one among them. I am a healer here and to be a member of the council is quite enough at present."
Ereinion had watched him closely during the speech, and now accepted the glass Elrond offered him, taking a slow drink from it. "And yet you are the most suitable candidate."
Elrond lifted a shoulder modestly. "Perhaps. Ereinion, why are you asking me these things?"
"Because Círdan asked me to today. He will not pressure you, nay, nor anyone else of the Lower Council, and nothing will be resolved until the Upper Council starts demanding answers, at which point the authority of the Lower will be undermined. It will seem that it cannot command itself and the upper council will assume complete control of the whole. That is not beneficial if the elves new to these shores are to be accommodated, and many have complained about the rigid and alien systems found here. Those who have never left or have spent many years here can see no faults. Yet there is division between the kindred, each race, and primarily between those of Aman and those of Middle-earth. From what I know of these systems, and remember of those in Middle-earth, the two could be incorporated to work far better, to the advantage of all."
Elrond repressed the desire to laugh, for the seriousness of the moment and Ereinion's countenance warned against it. He settled for a soft chuckle. "I wonder if I am the most suitable candidate - I think that asking you was the wisest decision the Lower Council could have made."
Ereinion snorted impatiently. "I am forty three, Elrond! I think not that the Upper Council will have aught to do with me."
"You underestimate yourself, I think," Elrond offered quietly. "You have a mind and nature well suited to this business, and a history of experience that stretches as many millennia as mine. To your advantage you have blood kin in this land..."
"Ah yes, the magnificent ancestry of the kin slayers. As if I needed that to make life more complex still."
Elrond avoided Ereinion's disgusted gaze, the words of condemnation too easily falling from his tongue.
"What is the matter?" Ereinion asked sharply. "Do you expect me to speak well of my kin? Forgive me, I cannot. I am ashamed to admit that ever I did. Perhaps once I honoured my father, his courage, his conviction, and walked with pride in the lands of Middle-earth that so high a price had been paid to reach. But no longer. And why is that, Elrond?" The word were spat, the dark eyes glittering like the cold hard jewels the Noldor so highly prized.
Elrond met the adamant-coloured gaze. "Ereinion, you need not have me say it aloud, though for some reason it seems that it would give you pleasure."
"And why not?" Ereinion laughed bitterly. He shook his head angrily, and stood up, draining his glass and setting it aside with a sharp click. "You take delight in concealing things from me, Elrond. Celebrían! Your children! Who you were to me - and now this!"
"Ereinion, enough!" The younger elf's anger too plainly concealed his fiercely repressed fear, and guilt wrenched at Elrond's chest. "Do you have any idea how hard it is being in my position?"
Ereinion did not look at him. "I do not care."
The words blackly printed upon the air. An unforgiving wall of indifference carefully built between them, shutting in emotion, and shutting it out.
Ereinion shook his head again. "Elrond, let me ask once and for all: will you accept the leadership of the Lower Council?"
"I do not refuse it, but I have no wish to accept. I would not force this upon you, but should you want to take Círdan's place I think that you are more than capable of doing it, and you will have the full support of the Lower Council. If it is the requirement of the Upper Council, then I will stand in for you until you reach your majority."
Ereinion nodded. "Thank you. I shall consider it and speak with Círdan."
Turning away he walked toward the door. Rising too Elrond stepped into his path, catching his arm. "Ereinion, stay. Please. I think we need to talk."
Ereinion opened the door. "I have nothing to say to you."
The chamber was silent at night. Empty. The great bed that had so warmly housed them for many years now lay cold and barren. Elrond eyed it with distaste, stopping short when he realised he had been meandering aimlessly around his chamber for over twenty minutes. This was the fifth night of Ereinion's absence. Elrond had stood at his window for several hours, watching Ereinion's dinghy, which he had scarcely touched since Ardís left, spinning around and around and around the little harbour, back and forth in unconscious mimicry of Elrond's indoor pacing. The waves had tossed it high; the rough tides of the spring season made the waters none too easy to navigate. Yet in the gathering darkness there Ereinion had remained, despite his innate unease of the sea, despite the dangers, taking fierce pleasure - and distraction - in the adrenaline rush that very fear of the sea brought.
Elrond set aside the feather quill he had been fiddling with, sighing as he registered the dark stains of ink upon his fingers from the end he had managed to snap. Rinsing his hands in the basin, he picked up his cloak and left the chamber. It was no use. He counselled Círdan, for the shipwright had guessed the cause of the change in relations between them, to keep his distance and allow Ereinion time to calm down. But Elrond could not follow his own advice. He knew that Ereinion needed time to collect himself and dam the wild tides of emotion behind rationality and reason. That could take seconds, or months, depending entirely upon the nature of the disturbance, and the immediacy of the need for calm.
Elrond had seen Gil-galad act as if naught out of the ordinary had occurred under the most provoking conditions, at least in public, but that had been matters of kingship, where his self-control was an absolute requirement. Here, now, when the matter struck upon a personal level, Elrond had no estimation of how long it would take Ereinion to control himself and, while he shied from the subject matter, the youngster had little inclination to. The old childish belief that ignoring something made it go away, as futile as it was known to be, was ever the refuge of the frightened mind. It would not work, and Ereinion should not be alone to face the truth.
He tapped on Ereinion's door, the closed entrance seeming barred by more than just the wood. It had been nearly ten years since they had slept apart, preferring to keep each other company even before Ereinion had remembered their true relationship. There was a long silence. The door opened abruptly.
"Yes?"
The voice was curt, the features blank, a civilised mask closed over emotion. Ereinion made no move to step back from the door, or allow Elrond to enter. His displeasure at the interruption could not have been plainer.
"I came to see how you were," Elrond said quietly, saddened by the continued hostility that he had barely seen turned his way in all the years he had known Ereinion.
Ereinion just looked at him, his features unyielding and his eyes cold.
Elrond held his eyes steadily. "I was - am - worried about you."
Ereinion eyed him for a moment, and then sighed. "Then, forgive me, that is not my concern. Do not come here to make yourself feel better, Elrond."
Elrond bowed his head. "You know me better than that."
Ereinion tensed, his fingers gripping the doorframe tighter. "Yes," he admitted after a pause. He gave his head a shake, his gaze softening slightly. "Elrond, please, leave me. I want to be alone."
Elrond opened his mouth, but Ereinion held up his hand. "Just go."
Elrond nodded, stepping back and turning away. The door did not immediately close and he looked back at the tense mask of composure Ereinion still held in place. "I love you," he said softly.
Ereinion's eyes flicked up to meet his. "And I you," he said equally quietly. He stepped back, closing the door, but his last words still reached Elrond's ears. "Unfortunately at this moment, that makes it worse."
The following morning, however, brought peace of a kind. Ereinion knocked for Elrond before the rest of the house awoke. Muttering an awkward apology, he held out his arms and soundly kissed Elrond, holding him tightly for several moments. Elrond, in turn, went to a chest at the foot of his bed and extracted a volume, which he pressed into Ereinion's hand. Together they retreated once more to the vast library, opened the windows and let the cool spring air fill the room. Elrond seated himself at the main table, his paperwork strewn across the surface and he concentrated on reworking the contents of a herbal drink that had been discovered to induce hallucinations, when it was supposed to suppress fever. He had spent much of the night engaged with the perplexing task, which grew no easier for examining it at length: none of the contents were supposed to act in such a manner.
Ereinion sat upon the couch that backed onto the wall between the windows, one leg stretched before him, the other bent and his foot resting on the edge of the couch, he held a book open against his knee. The book was one that Elrond had permitted few others to view before; his personal account of the events he had witnessed from the First Age through unto the very moment in time they now occupied. It held but the briefest of passages detailing the episode Ereinion so urgently sought to understand. A bare description of the coming of Sauron and, with wavering quill, he had penned the bravery of the kings of both elves and men in meeting their demise at the hands of the dark lord. He worked upon his herbal scripts with half an ear alert to Ereinion as the younger elf read and reread the account Elrond had written, in the year his world had fallen almost into ruin with the bitterness of the success and failure of the Last Alliance.
"Here ends the faithful narrative of Elrond Peredhel, master of this valley Imladris and told in this time of great sorrow, the winter of the year 3441. Farewell Ereinion: my king, my brother, my friend, my lover." Ereinion closed the book with a sigh. "It is of no use. I cannot remember." He rose and placed the book on the table at Elrond's elbow. "Though I thank you for the loan of the account."
"Perhaps it is as well," Elrond suggested. "Perhaps you are not yet meant to remember."
Ereinion shook his head. "If that were so then I would not feel this way. The suspense that coils within me I have felt before. Yet these memories are as elusive as water. I glimpse reflections and glints of times long past, but capture them I cannot. To read those words fills me with a dread I cannot begin to describe." He moved several restless steps away and ran a hand abruptly through his hair. "I need to know and I do not want to know. But this state of half-knowing will undo me." He walked to the couch and sat once more, yet he could not keep one position for more than a matter of impatient seconds.
Elrond rose and moved to his side, hoping to soothe him as he knelt and smoothed his hands up and down Ereinion's thighs. Ereinion looked down at him and touched Elrond's cheek lightly.
"I am...afraid," he admitted. "And the more so because I see it, I feel it in you. You do not want me to know. You spoke to me of my courage, but I cannot find that in me now. I want this over with. Finished."
Elrond gazed at his lover's chest, feeling the tension in the muscles beneath his hands. "I know that you are angry with me," he said. "Ereinion, I am sorry that I cannot relive this with you."
Ereinion shook his head. "I am not angry. Frustrated. So crisp are the pages of your journal that I know you have not opened it at that section since you wrote within it. You should not have to go through this again, Elrond. My apologies for speaking so harshly to you yester-eve, I did not mean that I care not for how you feel."
"You should not have to go through this alone," Elrond replied. "I wish that you would return to share chambers with me once more."
Ereinion extracted himself kindly from Elrond's hands and walked to the window, while the peredhel shifted to sit upon the couch. "No," Ereinion answered. "Not until this is over. You do not want to relive the experience any more than I do. The only difference between us is that you do not have to. I will manage."
But Elrond found himself unable to rest that night, or indeed the nights after. Instead, when darkness fell, he occupied himself in the Healing Wing, watching over the recovering elves. Sometimes too he indulged himself during the endless nights speaking at length with Glorfindel and Erestor, and learning a little more about his grandchildren. Erestor was uneasy in his company, and persistently apologetic about his desertion of the twins. But Elrond could not find it in his heart to be angered by the counsellor's departure from Middle-earth. In the end, the choice belonged to the twins: to stay, or to travel. And hope dared to spark a light at Erestor's words.
"As age begins to tell upon Estel, the twins grow uneasy. He speaks of death with the calmness only a mortal can, though Arwen hushes him when he does. I travelled to Gondor a six month before I left Middle-earth and observed how much the limits of mortality disturb your sons. They are aiding Celeborn with the building of his ship, for he plans to cross the seas in a future near at hand."
Elrond left the room that night, for the first time wondering if the finality in the twins' farewell could be waning with the fading darkness. Perhaps...perhaps they would yet come.
Aranel eyed him severely as Elrond made to take his leave just after midnight that night. The younger healer set aside his quill, walking over to his colleague, and ran a piercing eye over Elrond.
"I presume your charges are resting?" he asked and, when Elrond nodded, he gave a curt nod too and continued. "Make your peace with whoever it is that you hide from, and perhaps you too may delight in Lorien's dreams."
Elrond cast a swift glance at the younger healer, and met a pair of shrewd silver eyes. "I hide from no one," Elrond answered, shaking his head.
Aranel stepped forward and touched the tips of his fingers to Elrond's chest, just above his heart. The contact burned for a moment and Elrond braced himself not to recoil.
"Solitude will not cure your hurts," Aranel said quietly.
Elrond stepped away. He nodded and took his leave.
But how to end the nightly solitude he knew not. It was small wonder Ereinion would not keep his company through the hours into which dreams stole. His dearest friend, trusted charge, loyal herald, and long-time lover he had turned to and Elrond had failed him. Though Ereinion claimed not to be angry with him, Elrond knew his presence while he concealed the truth he could not bring himself to speak, nor even think, proved immeasurably frustrating to the younger elf.
Elrond had no comprehension of how Ereinion might react if he remembered himself. Elrond remembered the bolt of searing agony that had almost felled him to his knees upon the battlefields of Mordor, and his fingers curled into his tunic, gripping the fabric across his chest at the mere memory of the pain. Numbing dulling incomprehension had ached his heart and soul, while he willed himself to deny the evidence of his own eyes. Only that had allowed him to drag Isildur into the heart of the deadly mountain, his own emotions on ice while the dark heat of foreboding had hounded his steps, though the man trailed with increasing reluctance behind him. The emptiness of those after-years... And that had been his torment, he who watched, not he who had died. Walking down the long corridors that would return him to his chambers, Elrond closed his eyes for a moment. Ereinion, oh Elbereth, Ereinion, he silently moaned.
Even with his eyes thus closed he sensed the presence before he collided with it, and stopped sharply, opening his eyes to find himself facing none other than Ereinion himself.
"Sleep walking?" Ereinion said, frowning at him.
"Insomnia?" Elrond countered automatically. "You too are roaming these corridors in the dark hours pre-dawn."
Ereinion looked away and shrugged. He lifted a glass of water in an abrupt gesture. "Thirsty," he said almost defensively.
Elrond raised his hands, startled by the tone. "I was not contesting your right to be here."
"Surprised you are not telling me to go to bed like I am a child," Ereinion half-jokingly retorted, taking a nervous sip from his glass.
Elrond shrugged. "If you want to exhaust yourself it is your own prerogative. I cannot tell you what to do."
"You do not tell me anything," Ereinion said sharply.
Elrond sighed. "Go back to bed, Ereinion. I am not going to fight with you again."
"I do not want to fight with you," Ereinion said tiredly and he sighed too. "I just...oh, I do not know. It does not matter."
He turned to move past Elrond, and the elder elf paused, struck by the youngster's dishevelled appearance. His long hair was untidily strewn across his shoulders, instead of bound back as he usually wore it to sleep. Shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes, which were wide, and their gaze ceaselessly scoured the darkness, never quite meeting Elrond's. Catching his arm, Elrond cast him a worried look.
"Ereinion?" he said gently. "Are you unwell?"
Ereinion shrugged. "I am fine."
"No, you are not," Elrond pressed, willing Ereinion's glass façade of composure to break. "How can you be?"
Ereinion jerked away. "I said I am fine!" He backed up a few steps, keeping his eyes averted, and then turned away. "I will see you in the morning."
Elrond watched him walk quickly along the corridor and then disappear into his chambers. The door closed behind him slightly louder than necessary.
Returning once more to his lonely chamber, Elrond retreated to the window seat and set his gaze upon the brightest star in Varda's tapestry of night. In the years of his youth he had stared often up at the glowing light of Earendil, all that remained of a father he had never known, silently seeking advice from the eternal star. How easy it had been then to imagine that all the answers he would ever need could be obtained from that external source of light. Yet in his meditations, his gaze unwaveringly focused upon the star, his thoughts had turned inward of their own accord, and somehow, therein he eventually had found the answers he sought. Earendil's light shone clear that night, the sky a sapphire blue, glittering with crystal cut stars. The opalescent moon cast light that rivalled the beams of the twilight sun across the waves of the endless ocean stretching out from the eastern coast. But as Elrond passed into dream, a faint haze of cloud crossed the surface of the moon, covering Ithil's face with a scarlet veil.
And from the darkness of the chamber, a figure emerged. The shadows of night were peeled from the corners of the room, drawn and wrapped until a form emerged from the charcoal depths. Across the chamber he stepped, garbed in shadows that flickered and faded beneath the crimson spotlight of the moon, only to reform into elven shape once more as he rose behind the sleeping Elrond and raised his hand. Lorien's features were grimly set as he passed his hand down quickly, his fingertips touching Elrond's crown. He withdrew his hand, leaving a trail of dancing sparks, amber and scarlet, that faded like the dying embers of a fire. Before the light had died from them, the shadows had resettled themselves, and Lorien was gone. At least from Elrond's chamber. But his presence lingered still...
Dawn came slowly, dragging in to bear reluctant witness to all that would elapse that day. Elrond rubbed a hand roughly across his eyes, trying to rid them of the gritty ache that assailed them, a combination of minimal sleep and the dirty dust of the breeze.
"Morning." Ereinion spoke at his elbow, stepping past Elrond and into the grudging daylight.
Elrond nodded briefly, tugging his tunic over his mail shirt and fastening the belt with sore and aching fingers. The stench of blood assailed his nostrils as he stifled a yawn. The very air was sepia-tainted, filming the tongue and choking the throat. The ground underfoot was sticky, wet, slippery, the earth polluted by death. Deep ruts carved the ground, cleaved by a straying weapon, or thinner, shallower trenches were weak fingers had clawed at the earth. The lone river glinted blackly about half a league away, and the sky overhead was heavy with the clouds of Manwë's sorrow, obscuring light.
Pale spectres of tents flapped forlornly, like the white flags of surrender never raised, but silently begging where they lay for a peace that would not come. Outside the main tents they met, awaiting the coming of light enough to ride out once more. It would be the last time they stood together. Elendil looked tired. His eyes were shadowed and a dark cut marred his noble cheek. His hair sprung wildly out around his helm, as though the metal had become part of his flesh. Yet he stood steady and set, his hand upon Narsil, and as ever he greeted the elven high king and his herald with a smile. Beside him Isildur's eyes glinted with a dark menace. The toll of the daily battles showed not in weariness upon his form, but in a grimmer, harsher attitude that grew quicker in temper and fewer in scruples as the battle wore on. And this day the corners of his mouth were twisted in a dark smile.
Cautious optimism was in the air, encouraged the previous night by the kings of men and elves alike. But, though his contemporaries seemed to allow that tiny spark to kindle in their breasts as they watched over the ensuing preparations once again, Elrond felt a shiver travel down his spine.
"Victory is nigh at hand," Isildur confidently asserted, his gaze turning eagerly to the challenging dark slopes of the mountain. "Come dawn and welcome, let us forward to this fight and finish it."
"Speak not in such haste, my son," Elendil cautioned. "We know not what else Sauron may yet unleash."
"We are pushing too hard." Elrond too let his eyes drift to the dark forbidding rise of mountain before them once again. The sickening feeling of dread he had awakened with churned in the pit of his stomach and he suppressed a shiver at the malevolent touch of air blown by the winds wrapping about the mountain clefts. "Something is coming. I can feel it."
He felt Gil-galad's eyes turn to him, the sapphire gaze slightly narrowed, and for a fleeting instant the king's fingertips touched his back. "Then we will fight it," he said firmly, his determined sentiments echoed in a nod from the king of men.
Isildur laughed, a harsh bark of amusement. "Sauron himself would have to stir from his mountain to best us."
Elrond chuckled with the others, but his heart was not so light. Yet even he, swept forward to war again by the sheer, incredible force of nature his king, Ereinion Gil-galad, represented, did not for a moment suspect that such truth would come to Isildur's words.
Then the great dark lord emerged from his keep. And a terrible darkness the malevolent Maia drew down upon the mountain. The clouds lowered from above like the hours of gloaming, and upon the battlefield the defiant star of Gil-galad shone brightly. Never once did he turn or falter as the wrath of Sauron bore down upon him. And the blinding flash of heat washed over him, rippling the air into mirage and crumpling Aeglos to ash.
Stolen time leapt forward in a panicked rush. Elendil was crushed insignificantly to broken bone. Isildur leapt forward, snatching up his father's sword - splintered by Sauron's blow - and the vicious shard snaked upward to cleave the ring...
But Elrond was already running; running down the stone corridors, running before the sequence had finished playing out. In the dream he stood still, frozen in the silent grip of shock, yet even in the paralysing trauma of reliving that moment, he heard the silent scream that cried out to his soul.
The door was unlocked. Somehow, amidst the immeasurable horror that now held him in its thrall, Ereinion had retained the presence of mind to shoot back the deadbolt. He stood now in the centre of the room, his eyes fixed on nothing as though time swirled past him, spinning him in its drift. He was swaying upon the spot, his hands half-clenched as though he held once more Aeglos in his grip. Caught in the web of time, where all present, past and future blurred into one, he remembered, relived and felt time cease around him as the future centred into that one moment. The moment of death.
Elrond checked on the threshold of the room. Ereinion whirled to face him. And in that instant he reconnected with the world as it now stood. Whether he wished to or not, Elrond would never discover. The glazed gates of entrapping memory vanished from his eyes and he blinked. The fear that showed in the endless, midnight depths of his gaze was far, far worse than the submersion that had afore plagued him. Elrond had no words to speak; fear crawled up into his throat and sealed his tongue. The moment of truth, to sink beneath the weight of the most crippling memory that could ever afflict an immortal, or to rise above it and survive, had finally come. Though the challenge was not his, panic seized Elrond in its cruel, relentless vice. I cannot do this. I am not ready for this. Then he was propelled forwards, to Ereinion's side, to stand with him, no matter what.
"Elrond," Ereinion's voice was a fractured whisper. "Oh Valar, Elrond..."
Elrond drew him close, cradling the tremor-wracked form against his body as Ereinion buckled into his arms, his face buried in Elrond's shoulder. He was shaking, shaking so hard he could barely stand. His fingers knotted spasmodically into the folds of Elrond's night-robes. The strong frame was wracked with shudders of deep, soul-swallowing grief and Ereinion clung to him, clutching at him like drowning man. His legs would not support him as the feeble bridge of shock fell away and the chasm grew beneath him. Slowly he crumpled to the floor, his hands covering his face to hide him from the world. On his knees now, he clutched at handfuls of his own hair, spilling around him like a mourning shroud, his fingers bloodlessly clenched in the dark curtain.
Elrond fell to his knees, reaching to touch his lover, trying to wrap him in the balm of a less tortured aura, hold him in arms that could support. Ereinion recoiled with a cry, half-hissed as though in pain.
"Ai! No!"
Agony gripping his heart, Elrond could only watch in despair. He stood once more that helpless distance he had borne upon Mount Doom, unable to do aught but watch and cry out in his own anguish. His own torment, stemming from memory alone, was secondary to Ereinion's. Yet to witness the death grief itself was torture. Torture because it could not fully be comprehended, nor eased, nor in any way assisted. Every fibre of Elrond's soul screamed at him to grant aid to the distressed creature before him. But he was powerless.
Ereinion's shoulders shook as though the very foundations of the earth trembled beneath him. His breath shuddered in choked gasps as life and death warred within him. His fea screamed aloud, though he did not speak, nor cry out. He coiled around the shock and pain as though it were a living thing caged inside him. His shoulders bowed and his chest seemed to sink as black grief ate away at him, crushing his lungs and swallowing his heart. He folded in upon himself, crumbling like a vast castle falls to ruin. Shivers convulsed his frame, pure fear flowing in his blood. Fear of death. It was a long, long time before he grew still. And then, when Ereinion raised his head, Elrond knew a greater fear than ever before.
A funeral bell tolled within his ears, the echoes threatening to shatter Elrond's own framework and causing him to quake in turn. It was Gil-galad who stared back at him, the child Ereinion fled. His gaze was empty. The grief of his soul tore away all other emotions and stripped all seeming life from his eyes. He sat back upon his heels, staring blindly at Elrond with dreadful, spiritless eyes. The silver streaks, testimony to the tears he had spent, shimmered upon ivory-bleached cheeks. The black of his hair formed a chilling contrast to his deathly pallor.
Slowly he rose, holding up a hand, the fingers splayed and strained against the skin to stay Elrond's comforting touch. Gil-galad stood as though he knew not how to stand, as though the ground was so badly rocked beneath him that all teetered upon the brink of a endless drop. His trauma-soaked eyes drifted listlessly from Elrond's.
The desolate, deadened stillness of body and soul echoed fearfully of Celebrían, whose soul and body had so nearly been sundered at the hands of the Orcs. She had never recovered. There was forever a distance to her, as though her actions and her thoughts were no longer one and the same. She existed more than lived, or rather, interchanged between the two, and at times wished herself elsewhere, beyond the world as it was. She seemed to watch then, as if she were suspended in time as the departed souls of the deceased are, while the bodies of others moved about her.
Elrond, locked in his own private terror, could find neither action nor prayer to stem the flow of the future, the inexorable racing of the seconds forward from each moment that they stood, trapped in the spell of the past and falling into a future.
Gil-galad's eyes came to rest, pausing upon the tilted basin of water that stood innocuously upon a stone pedestal, the base darkened so that the water might reflect the image of one who stood before it. The silent war within the chamber was mirrored hauntingly in the clear waters. He lashed out, moving so swiftly that Elrond barely had time to leap aside as the stone basin was cast viciously across the chamber, crashing upon the flags. The water arced in a moon-washed spray to splatter darkly upon the paving stones.
A storm of emotions struck the room and ornaments, books, sketches, clothes and glasses were violently thrown from their solid rests, to shatter, crumple and thunder to the floor. The drapes were torn from bed and windows, the rending of fabric dividing wood and material, severing forms and structure. Elrond stood still as the tempest wheeled about him, trying not to shake in his own private world of fear, watching in suspended animation, waiting.
As suddenly as the cyclone began, it ceased. Gil-galad was still once more. His hair raggedly strewn about his face serrated his features to bestial patterns of light and dark. The blazing colour of his eyes glinted with a fatal light of despair and he stepped back, uneven, shaking steps. Then the open doorway swallowed him whole and he was gone, vanished into the darkness of the corridor.
Elrond could scarcely comprehend the absence that now engulfed the chamber, for the psychedelic emotions still echoed from every surface and he lingered in incredulity for precious seconds. The fear drained from him as dread poured into his veins and spurred him forth, along the corridor that flickered with eerie echoes of Ereinion's death, in the shadows and the flames cast this time not by the hand of the Dark Lord, but instead the hanging torch brackets.
Though he stopped not to think nor scan the dark horizons, Elrond followed in the footsteps of his fleeing lover, his course as straight and true as an arrow's. And to the sea he flew, to the edges of the ashen sands where Osse's wild horses rode the black waves beneath the cloud stained sky. Into the icy depths he plunged, striking out after the boat being pushed out into the waves, bound, without thought or reason, for Mount Doom. The great, dark mountain where the Lady's voice had summoned Ereinion from the emptiness and her musical call had guided his spirit to the sanctuary of the grave beyond.
Elrond's robes were thickened, weighted by the water and he stumbled with every desperate step. The wooden side of the boat he grasped in both hands, crying out to Ereinion's fear-deafened ears pleas that he could barely word. The current smashed the boat into his ribs and he felt the bruising impact drive the breath from his lungs. Elrond slipped on the slimy rocks beneath the reckless waves and went under. The icy water choked into his lungs, cold enough to burn. Shocked, Elrond clawed for the surface, half-blinded by his wet, immobile curtain of hair, the salty taste of the sea mingling with the sickening tang of bile in his throat. Barely-comprehending eyes gazed at him over the edge of the traitorous boat. Ereinion had released it and watched his struggling lover with fearful confusion, too wrapped in his own shock to understand the peril of the sea. With his remaining strength, Elrond thrust the boat away from Ereinion, and relinquished it to the mercy of the current.
Across the boat length of water, shadowed eyes met his. Then Gil-galad's fist crashed across his temple and Elrond nearly fell again. His ears rang with the force of the blow, the roar of the waters crashing through his head. Hands ensnared his robes in vicious vice and the strangling material knotted about his throat. He clutched at Ereinion in turn, wrenching him toward the shallower waters and throwing him to his knees. Fear lent him an anger he barely recalled the existence of within him and an anguished, wordless cry escaped him. He shook Ereinion roughly by the shoulders.
"It is gone!" he bawled above Osse's watery roars, trying to communicate the present to the elf held only in the snare of the past. Gil-galad seemed not to know upon what shore he stood, nor even that night was not day so completely was the experience relived. "Mount Doom is gone and the accursed ring with it! It is over, Ereinion! It is over!"
Shocked to his senses by the chilly waters slapping over him, Ereinion lifted his widened eyes to Elrond, incomprehension on his face. His lips moved in silent question.
"You were going back," Elrond accused, shoving away trailing tendrils of his own sodden hair. "You were trying to go back - to die!"
"I..." Ereinion shook his head in confusion, baffled eyes meeting Elrond's.
Elrond fell to his knees beside his lover, clutching at elusive handfuls of the inconstant waves, watery sand streaming through his fingers. "You cannot," he whispered, hearing his own voice quaver. Words tumbled from his lips without thought, all coherency deserting him as he pleaded for the one thing he could still bear to comprehend. "You must not...you must not."
"I..." Ereinion stammered, comprehension dawning in his eyes and parting his lips in disbelief. "Elrond...oh...I am so sorry."
Elrond crawled to him, winding him into a drenched embrace and they knelt amidst the swirling waves, the freezing waters lapping at their robes.
When Osses's cold caress grew unbearable, Elrond managed to struggle to his feet, leading Ereinion by the hand, and, dragging their sodden and trailing robes, they staggered from the water's edge to fall upon the sand. There, Ereinion leaned against him once more, knotting his fingers into Elrond's hair and resting his cheek upon the comforting shoulder. Elrond smoothed his hand down his lover's spine, his other hand moving to cup Ereinion's face, to trace the strong curve of his lover's jaw, to brush lightly over the bruised lips and through the tangled strands of ebony silk that framed Gil-galad's features. Again and again, Elrond negotiated the familiar path with his thumb, reassuring himself that this time, Gil-galad was still there. That he was not gone. That it was over and this time they had survived.
Gil-galad sighed, lifting weary, but mercifully live blue eyes to Elrond's face. He shook his head tiredly. "I am sorry," he murmured again.
Elrond held him closer, hushing away the unneeded words. Tenderly he touched his lips lightly over Gil-galad's to quiet him, feeling the exhausted flutter of a kiss in return. The salty taste lingered on their lips, made sore from the rough touch of the waves. The brink of reality was tested, found stable.
Gil-galad sighed against Elrond's lips, another kiss accepted gratefully in consolation for the moments of unbearable aloneness he had borne. He brushed his lips against Elrond's once more and then, reassured, allowed his head to fall back to his lover's shoulder, letting himself simply be held, supported, and comforted.
It was Elrond then who wet the edges of his lover's already drenched robes with silent tears that spilled, unseen and unheard. With Ereinion held tightly in his arms and the beach beneath them steady, he allowed himself to crumble, no longer denying the fear that he could have lost Ereinion again and surrendering to the blissful relief that he had not.
Exhaustion bound them to the cool shores until the sand encrusted bared legs, salt stiffening and binding the strands of their hair together. The light of the sun was staining the sky with blessed golden rays before they stirred. The quiet approach of Círdan, offering tanned and weathered hands to raise them to their feet, reminded Elrond of the disturbances of the night before and of the chill that was seeping into his bones.
He rose slowly, his legs feeble beneath him, every joint aching with cold. Cool flesh brushed against his hand and quivering fingers gripped his own as Ereinion reached for him, he too, unsteady on his feet. Elrond turned to look at him, drinking in the strangely beautiful sight of his lover, his hair silvered with salt and twisted into rough spirals around his face, his lips lined in faint blue from the cold of the dripping robes he was still wearing. The ice-hued lips twisted into a rueful smile and Gil-galad sighed.
"L-look at the s-state of u-us," he managed to weakly jest through chattering teeth. "I s-supp-pose it i-is t-too much to h-hope that eh-everyone e-else is st-til asl-leep?" The last was addressed to Círdan.
The silver-haired elf half-closed his eyes, a faint smile touching upon lips grimly set and he clasped Ereinion's shoulder tightly, grateful as Elrond was that even such a small gesture could still be conducted.
"I am afraid you rather woke the entire house last night," Círdan said almost apologetically.
"R-reception c-committee awaiting?" Gil-galad groaned, still shivering. "I c-cannot w-wait t-to try and explain th-this one."
Elrond squeezed his hand supportively, wishing with all his heart that they would be able to find a source of hot water and fresh clothing before they were required to explain anything. He was so cold now it was scarcely bearable; having ignored all physical pains for long, chilling hours, he felt now every ache of bruised bones and sand-scraped skin. He raised a smile for the sake of his lover; quietly marvelling at the humour Ereinion had managed to dredge up, despite his condition. Long fingers gripped his own comfortingly tight and together they followed Círdan up the beach back across the shores of the Undying Lands.
Elrond leaned his head back against the edges of the tub, suffering the chill of the morning air, which raised the skin on his shoulders to shivering pimples of cold flesh. A numbness consumed him, not just in body, but also now in soul at the revelation. This was my fault. I could have lost him again and it would have been my fault. Again. Even thrice passing through a millennium of reassurances and exploration of logic had failed to convince Elrond against the belief that he should have prevented the death of his king upon the slopes of Mount Doom. Not “could," for whichever way he examined the stratagems for that day and the locations upon the battlefield, he had found no way in which he could have stood with Gil-galad when Sauron had descended the mountain. Nor was it likely that he would have survived had he done so. It had not been his fate to die that day and the Valar had demonstrated his need in the role he had played for years after in the fate of the elves.
Yet in his mourning he had eternally suffered the grief of feeling that somehow he should have still prevented Gil-galad's death; that he should have given the Valar some reason to spare his most beloved from the fate allocated to him. This private grief he had guiltily nursed for the turning of the times, knowing it to be a folly, yet unable to banish it in full through logic or even his love for Celebrían, the latter of which had occasionally been tainted by its presence.
But this time Elrond knew himself to be to blame. He alone had believed himself capable of guiding Ereinion through the complex intricacies that had woven their paths together - and torn them apart. He had failed Ereinion, and himself too. If he had but spoken with his lover before, discussed the death grief and even talked through what had happened to prepare Ereinion for the recollection, the power of the memory might have been reduced and the terror-inducing night never have come to pass. In his own still-lingering horror of the event he had not been courageous enough to face it. Elrond closed his eyes in silent shame. Had he not been so selfish then Gil-galad could have been braced to handle the coming of the recollection. Instead...
Elrond smoothed the long, ebony hair spilling over his shoulder and trailing pearly drops of scented water down his chest. Ereinion's eyes were half-closed, assuming the state of elven repose, exhausted by his experiences. Death's second self is found in sleep, Elrond thought with a sudden shiver, though this tranquil state of relaxation was a far cry from the still vacancy of death. But his fingers tightened on the dark locks and he shifted a little closer to his lover amidst the bubble-topped waters.
Ereinion lifted his head from Elrond's shoulder, blinking sleepily. He lifted curious eyes to Elrond, not failing to notice the tension that had stiffened Elrond's embrace. Gil-galad lifted a soapy hand to push his hair out of his eyes and streaked the dark curtain with tiny, glistening, fragile bubbles.
"'S the matter?" he murmured, still only semi-conscious as he drifted back from the lands of a sleep far more peaceful than his last.
Even as Elrond sought for words with which to answer him, Ereinion drew himself up, touching his lover's cheek with concern in his eyes. A pang of self-loathing struck Elrond at bringing such an expression back to his lover's face so quickly and he shook his head, taking Ereinion's hand in his own.
"Naught, beloved." He kissed the captive knuckles gently, his lips lingering on each tiny bone. "Naught."
Ereinion's expression grew sceptical but he let the matter slide, settling back into the soothing warmth of the water and wrapping his arms around Elrond's torso, laying his head on his lover's chest once more. Elrond held him close, resting his cheek on the top of Ereinion's head.
"I love you," Ereinion said quietly, closing his eyes again.
Elrond did not miss the unspoken gratitude that accompanied his words, and he raised stinging eyes to the ceiling, refusing to allow the selfish tears burning them to fall. Though he whispered the reassuring echo in return, he did not hold himself worthy of those affections bestowed upon him. I failed you, he silently shouted. Do not love me for that, Ereinion. But again his courage deserted him and he did not speak his thoughts aloud.
Círdan's knock upon the door finally stirred them, for he bore both a copper jug of heated water to rinse away the soap, and dressing robes. Gil-galad made an indistinct sound of protest, rolling his eyes as he reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He took his time rinsing the bubbles from his hair and skin. Then he swathed himself in a robe of ruby hue, which clung to his wet skin, and perched upon the bath edge while Elrond too sluiced himself in fresh water. Elrond, garbed in an amber gown, let the water drain from the tub, grateful that Círdan had kept any servants from their door and conducted the carrying of water himself. He was not ready to compose himself in a suitable manner to bear even the most well concealed interest of those awoken by the storms of the previous night. Círdan watched in silence while they adorned themselves in the clothes he had set out for them and then opened the door to the corridor.
The morning breakfast had been delayed that they might partake of it, both to sustain themselves and to present themselves intact to the people of the house. This served to spare Ereinion interrogation from concerned visitors, which all three knew would not be well received. Gil-galad was visibly tired, even so, and his reluctance to be social or even pleasant was evident. It was with a sigh of resignation that he stalked out of the chamber.
Breakfast was a strained affair at best, for nearly all the elves resident in the Welcome House were present. Glances crackled about the room, numerous eyes doing the hesitant scan of nearby faces, only to drop and then rise again. Some studiously avoided looking at Ereinion or Elrond, others were repeatedly drawn to eye them. Oropher, Elrond was relieved to note, was visiting kin in Tol Eressea. Yet still the air quivered with tension like a taut bowstring. Only Glorfindel seemed oblivious, or rather, simply disregarded the palpable apprehension. He crossed directly to Gil-galad upon entering and, bending low, touched him lightly on the shoulder.
"How are you?" he asked, his voice low but in the funeral hush that enveloped the room it was still clearly audible. Ears stretched to hear the response.
Gil-galad raised an eyebrow. "If I look even close to how I feel then you should have your answer."
"Your attire is faultless," Glorfindel replied, his eyes interrogating the exhausted elf.
"Glorfindel," Gil-galad said wearily, letting his visible state speak for him. No one with eyes to see the shadows within his eyes and the pallor of his features, the skin touched with grey and the thin lines beside his mouth would have believed the words he spoke. "I am fine."
The finality of his tone prevented any further questions. The reassuring lie seemed to serve the majority of those present, for whether or not they were convinced by it, none seemed to wish to touch upon the distressing events of the previous night. A cautious hum of conversation began to rise and to Elrond's great relief there came little further inquisition.
It was a relief to rise and leave the hall, to walk down the cool stone of the passages and even more so to close the door to the bedchamber upon the passing glances directed their way by the servants of the houses. Once inside, Gil-galad stripped off his outer robes so that he stood only in his breeches. The discarded robes fell in an embroidered heap upon the flags, their sapphire hues paled beneath the beams of the sun passing through the window. Elrond moved to pick them up.
Gil-galad shook his head. "Leave it."
Elrond paused, and then simply lifted the abandoned finery.
"You are not my slave," Gil-galad said, moving to the bed and curling himself onto it. "I will deal with it later."
Elrond placed the clothing on a nearby chair and crossed to his lover's side. "Ereinion? Do you need anything?"
Gil-galad shook his head against the pillow, strands of his dark hair tousling around his face. "Sleep," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Elrond, stay with me?" He held out a hand.
"Of course." Elrond gently took the groping hand in his own and squeezed it comfortingly. Ereinion's long fingers curled around his and Elrond's hand was drawn to the other elf's chest. In moments the grip went limp as Ereinion slid into sleep once more.
Elrond remained upon the edge of the bed, holding his lover's hand in his own. With the other hand he reached out to smooth down the tangled ebony locks. Ereinion looked young again, startlingly young, his face pressed into the ivory pillow, his eyes closed in exhausted slumber. Elrond stroked his cheek, lightly tracing the high arch of an eyebrow, the narrow line of fine hairs soft against his fingertips. His features relaxed in sleep Ereinion was deceptively peaceful, as though the previous night had never happened. With his eyes lidded, the grief and the fear within them that lingered in dark phantoms that seemed to move within the beautiful sapphire depths were hidden.
"I am sorry," Elrond whispered to the safely sleep-deafened ears. "Ereinion, I am so sorry."
He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to his lover's brow.
"For what do you apologise?"
A soft voice from the doorway surprised him and Elrond turned, gently placing his lover's hand upon the sheet as he rose.
"Círdan," Elrond said, nodding to the elder elf.
The silver-haired elf-lord regarded him for a moment, his azure gaze taking in the lines of exhaustion that marred Elrond's countenance and detecting the grey mists of guilt that swirled in Elrond's soul. He moved through the chamber, his gaze lingering for a moment on Ereinion and then led Elrond into the small antechamber beyond.
"You are as weary as my poor Ereinion," Círdan said, his soft voice severe. "Should you not take some rest?"
"I cannot," Elrond replied with a shake of his head. "I cannot find the peace for rest."
"What do you seek peace from?" Círdan pressed. "Elrond, Ereinion is safe now and you have done all that you can. You must sleep before you drain yourself completely."
But again Elrond shook his head.
"Why, my friend?" Círdan asked gently.
"Why?" Elrond shook his head and lied. "It is simply one of those things."
"I doubt it is simple," Círdan chided him.
Elrond turned away from the elder elf's gaze, feeling his resistance beginning to crack. The responsibility he felt as his failings was as a leaden weight upon his shoulders and he could not withstand the kind enquiry in Círdan's voice.
"I failed him, Círdan," he said, turning back to face the elder elf to take the well-deserved verbal crucifixion the shipwright should rightfully bestow upon him for his fault.
"Failed him?" Círdan's astonishment was plain. "How have you come to believe that?"
"The truth, mean you?" Elrond asked. "Is it not clear? What did I do to prepare Ereinion for this day? Nothing. I did not heed the warning of Glorfindel the night of the fire and, even when it became apparent that Ereinion could so easily recall the moment of his death, I kept my distance. I was more concerned with allowing his justifiable anger at me to cool than I was about preparing him for the coming of something far worse."
"I know Ereinion's disposition, Elrond. He shut us out and permitted little comfort or what aid we were able to give."
"He is not to blame in this," Elrond said with a firm shake of his head. "I am."
"He is not guiltless, Elrond. I do not mean that his grief is his fault, nor the fear he must feel, though he disguises it well. His reaction, I think, is natural and, hard as it is to believe, it is a good thing."
"Aye," Elrond admitted. "Had he no emotion left to express I would be far more concerned for his health than I am now. He will recover from this, Círdan. He already is."
"I am very glad to hear you confirm what I hoped," Círdan said. "But my point was this: Ereinion knew that he was having nightmares, dreams that brought him ever closer to the experience of his death. He shunned us all and shut himself away from our aid. He did not have to do that and he is probably the worse for doing so. I do not know what you think you could have done to help him when, for a time, he would barely speak to you outside the requirements of civility."
"I should have broached the whole matter long ago," Elrond replied grimly. "I should have tried to talk to him about it..."
"When?" Círdan asked. "When the whole matter was beyond his comprehension? When he begged us not to speak of it? In the first case he would not have understood and in the second you might only have frightened him. Elrond, I do not know what you think you could have done."
"I..."
"You were there when it counted," the shipwright interrupted, speaking with quiet conviction. He trained pale blue eyes upon Elrond's wretched countenance, his gaze as steadily compelling as his words. "I could not be. I curled myself into the arms of Celebrían and shook, fearing only the worst, while she lay as still as stone in her own fear. Glorfindel could not go to you both. Though he thought to, Ecthelion pulled him back, knowing the experience to be too close to his own and knowing it would cause him harm. But for you, Elrond, Ereinion would have been alone and of what would have happened then, I do not like to think."
"But I could not do anything," Elrond shook his head. "I was as useless as a babe in arms, and I... Never," he continued quietly, "Never have I been so afraid, not since my earliest recollections and the coming of the sons of Feanor to snatch Elros and myself from our childhood home. I was but a child then, ignorant and unable to do aught. I am not that child now and my excuses are none but my own self-centred fears." He spat the words with bitterness and bowed his head in shame.
"Visit not the archive of failures that you have unavoidably collected in the great course of your life, Elrond," Círdan chided gently. "Think instead of what has been achieved by this. It is to your credit that Ereinion remains with us."
"Indeed, Elrond, for you were there when you were needed."
Elrond had not heard Glorfindel enter the room, and now turned in surprise to face his old friend.
"What you felt that you did or did not do is irrelevant to what Gil-galad felt that you did. Your mere presence and that you cared, that you had courage enough to be with him was all the strength he needed you to offer." Glorfindel crossed to the side of the disbelieving peredhel and placed a hand upon his shoulder. "No one can hope to assume the responsibility for accommodating the experience of first death save the one to whom the death belongs. But it is enough to know that there is someone to whom it matters that you do survive it, for you cannot always believe that your own self is important enough, not when you are so consumed by the emotions."
Elrond lifted his eyes to Glorfindel's, seeing, at last, the truth behind them. The golden Elda held more sway with his sceptical heart than even Círdan, for it was Glorfindel who could truly comprehend the emotions similar to those Ereinion had felt.
"And if you believe us not, then see it in the eyes of your loved, let him convince you," Glorfindel continued, his tone slightly stern.
The door opened as if upon unconscious cue, and Gil-galad entered, still shirtless, with his long hair falling into his eyes. He pushed it back sleepily and blinked at them.
"You left," he accused Elrond.
Glorfindel's hand gently gripped Elrond's shoulder as the half-elvin lord tried not to flinch at those words. There was no resentment in Ereinion's eyes as he shrugged into a loose robe for the sake of courtesy, and settled into a chair. Leaning back, Gil-galad closed his eyes again, as if to resume his interrupted sleep. Círdan moved to his side and knelt, placing a hand on Ereinion's knee.
"How are you?" Círdan asked.
An eye opened. "I shall amass great wealth if I start charging for the answer to that question," Gil-galad remarked dryly. "Fine, Círdan. I am just tired."
"You should rest," Glorfindel said, eyeing him critically.
"Glorfindel, numerous are your talents, yet I would be willing to bet that your most notable one is stating the obvious." Gil-galad's attempt at a smile softened his words, and he rubbed a hand over his eyes sleepily.
"Balrogs aside?" Círdan said lightly, glancing briefly at Glorfindel.
"The incident with the balrog does not even enter the equation," Ereinion answered, as he cast Glorfindel a sidelong look.
The flaxen-haired Elda rolled his eyes tolerantly. "I wonder if it is at all possible for you to regain your memories without regaining your rather warped sense of humour?"
Gil-galad chuckled. "I hope not."
Glorfindel feigned a sigh and then smiled too. "Seeing as I have no wish to be the continued subject for your amusement, I shall take my leave of you all."
"I too shall depart, if I am only to be charged for my concern," Círdan teasingly agreed. He rose, touching Ereinion's shoulder lightly and was rewarded with a hand briefly covering his. "Rest. Please."
"Go then," Gil-galad said gently. "Give me peace enough and I will."
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