Disclaimer: Copyright of Tolkien.

An Essential Note:
This story is told in two parts: partially in present-time (the first section of each chapter), and partially in past-time ('flashbacks' are in italics) -- both parts are individually chronological. The purpose is that the last flashback (chapter 6, second section) finishes right before the story started in present-time (chapter 1, first section). In this way, the story is a circle, ending just prior to where it began. It also echoes itself, but I leave that up to reader exegesis. =)

Fun Fact:
This story can (intentionally) be read in more than one way, and still make a coherent tale. You may read it as posted, beginning to finish. Or you may read only the present-time sections, then only the past-time sections, or vice versa. Enjoy!

~*~

Here upon a pier, the adjacent gulf was a shadow of the ocean's fury; milder the water's punishment of ship and harbor, quieter the sea's whispered and seductive song. Tedious and unending, so thought the watcher this night, pondering with little interest the constant contest of element against earth, wherein conquest would never be known.

"Hello, stranger." Now this newcomer’s steps fell lightly as he approached, but his voice was heavy with restrained emotion. "Have you great affinity for the sea that you look after it with a lover’s intensity?"

"I do not hate the sea," came the stranger’s answer as his head lowered. "Though I loved dearly all it has taken from me. And more that will be ere the end, I foretell."

The one behind paused, gauging this reply and the cloaked figure whose voice was as unmistakable as his own. But his heart told him not to tarry; hearkening to that demand his feet closed the final distance. Neither now could his excitement be contained, and he blurted, "Turn about so I may see you!"

The stranger obeyed, who was no more strange in flesh than the one he faced. "As you wish, but ‘tis naught different than some years ago, or even this day if you own a mirror." Thus turned, he amended with, "My brother."

"Aie!" Elros embraced his twin. "Of course I own a mirror, though ‘tis no less wondrous to look upon you now, my dear brother arrived at last. Be welcome!" He swept his hand behind, where a city beyond the harbor slept under moonlight. "Welcome to the Grey Havens of Mithlond!" Laughing through tears of joy he initiated another embrace, glad that his strength was returned.

Any watching from afar might have guessed them locked in a wrestling match initially, only to see that neither strove but for firmer nearness. Indeed some did watch amid shadows, curious about this person arrived unlooked for, and Elros' enthusiastic greeting. He had gone to see about an armed stranger, and unbeknownst to them, found much else.

"Do you weep, brother?" Elrond fingered wetness upon his twin’s cheek, feeling his own neck dampened.

"Not all tears are an evil!" They stepped apart by a reluctant foot or two. "It was relayed to me that a fell warrior had been espied," Elros arched to look at the other’s garb, and whistled. His brother resembled a terrible Elf-lord indeed, adorned in armor fit for a king, only partially concealed under a cloak of deep blue. "And well, I agree! Save for the Guardsmen, wargear is seldom donned outside of ceremony. Would you believe that many feared to approach you? None must have seen your face!" Shaking his head he laughed again, and cuffed his twin’s shoulder in good humor. "Elrond, Elrond, wherever have you been, my little brother?"

~*~

Under a sky of smoke, dawn rose dark as night, the air still thick with dust from fallen Thangorodrim. Heart racing faster than feet he ran from one end of the encampment to the other – arriving too late despite haste and foresight.

Before Eonwe’s own tent was a crescent of dried blood and Elves knelt to mourn slain kin. Candles only remained to symbolize the dead, whose bodies had since been cremated: stuff of earth reduced by flame to vapors, and water washes the ash away. But not the pain.

Betrayal and failure blended impossibly, forming a hotness that seized his heart. Elrond merely clenched his fists, so tight that blood ran freely from under his nails, streaking the stains of a healer’s work over warrior calluses. "Are they gone?" he demanded to know.

An answer came from behind, "Alas! yes, the Silmarils were taken."

Elrond turned on this speaker with the anger of a lifetime. Even in the jewels’ absence did their light so easily blind? "I spoke of the Feanorions. But your reply answers both questions." The Elf flinched, first in bafflement, then again as the taller Half-elf moved to loom over him. "You saw them leave – which way?"

As poor substitution for bravery, the Elf grew affronted. "Read not from my eyes unless I permit you. But I did see them flee, fey and sobbing, each in separate directions." Towards the northern ruins of Anfauglith he pointed, then south where now stretched vast marshes.

Elrond strode past and did not look back. A little courage was to be had at the sight of his back, and the Elf called, "They killed my brother, you know! They deserve no better."

"They saved my brother." Elrond walked on. "They deserve no less."

~*~

~*~

Nearby lamps lit a table laden with plates, while the rest of the chamber remained dark. Little conversation passed between the two lone diners, and privacy had been requested of the staff. Yet the occasional Elf would hurry through the room, eyes aglow with curiosity and awe owing nothing to any errand.

Reaching for a pitcher, Elros refilled both goblets with water. "Is there something else I can bring you?"

His companion spared attention from his mutton to assess the table. Finding the bread, fresh fruit, spiced wine and cheese adequate, he nodded in accord, then reengaged his meat.

Sitting back, Elros glanced at the empty bowl before him. One ladle of stew had satiated his own appetite; the same had merely whetted Elrond’s. "You must be famished. I wonder if there is any substance under that gear you wear." Seeing his brother chew faster to answer promptly, he added, "I suppose there is now, hm?" Both showed identical smiles.

For a while there was quiet. In that time Elros waved two passersby to go along their way swiftly; but he marked their gazes linger with trepidation upon the warblade laid across the table. His own eyes traced the runes writ athwart the scabbard even as he murmured, "You must meet the King." Blinking he said, "The High King of the Noldor here; Gil-galad he is called, and Ereinion also."

After a drink of water, Elrond replied, "I know who the High King is."

At this oversight Elros felt his cheeks tingle and warm. A portrait of young Ereinion had hung --and later burned-- in the library of their childhood home, and his was a familiar household name. "Of course you do, forgive me. Seems I am befuddled with excitement tonight."

"But where is he now?"

"Nenuial, though that is not his abode." Elros considered, then laughed away a developing frown. "Now, tell me again: which side of the Ered Luin did you follow south?"

"Inland." Elrond tilted his head in the correct direction, to his brother's surprise.

"Then you might have seen the Emyn Uial in the east, if you stayed near enough to the river, and have eyes sharp as your sense of location. Well, beyond those hills lies a lake some call Evendim; Elves dwell thereabouts, and some Men also, if temporarily."

"Nenuial..." now Elrond became thoughtful, but Elros spoke in his place, letting his brother eat uninterrupted.

"Yes, that is where Eonwe led the Host, and where for half a decade I watched in vain for your coming." Dispelling the image of a bare horizon from his mind, he recalled happier things. "Ai Elrond, you should have seen it! Our encampment was a forest of waving standards and polished helms. We lived close but merrily, for there was much rejoicing in that time, even as the land was still changing. First to depart were the Teleri, mariners from Balar, of whom Cirdan is Lord – would you believe that those folk built these Havens fast as a beaver makes its damn? In woodcraft and all matters of sealore they are masters, and from them we Men have learned much. Yet the High King would have a stronghold of stone in Forlindon north and west of the Gulf of Lhun, and its construction took the longer.

"A colony of Elves we found at Lake Evendim when we arrived there, refugees chiefly from Doriath and Ossiriand. I think they were not sad to see so many uninvited guests take leave! But Gil-galad has gone now to invite them into the southern lands, called Harlindon. You see, this realm west of the Ered Luin has been named Lindon, which Gil-galad reigns even as he welcomes any to come hither who will. I must introduce you! He is a good King, brother, mark my words."

With a sigh, Elrond put down his half-eaten fruit, eyes settling with little tolerance upon his twin. "I would rather mark your meaning, if you would but speak it plainly."

Smiling sheepishly, Elros stammered, "A-aye, you caught me. ‘Tis just... well, I only mean to say that there is a place for you here." Seeing that familiar gaze narrow, he surrendered the rest, "Gil-galad has offered to me positions among his court, first as an advisor, then as a captain when I declined, and recently as his own herald. And he is not the only one; many Lords here seek to fill ranks spread thin after the wars past. In this way your timing is perfect! Surely someone would take an interest in you, and gladly I would vouch on your behalf."

Elrond sat back. At length he made a hand gesture to the table, and spoke in a humorless tone, "Naught but scraps remain between us, it seems. Yet I am no vagabond seeking charity, think what you may."

Perceiving no remorse after those cold words, Elros turned his face away as if slapped. "Scraps! Think you I would pass aught to my brother that I deem unfit for myself?"

"You speak of positions declined by you, and offer to help my chances of procuring them with your endorsement. How to you does that seem?"

Simultaneously realizing and denying his guilt, Elros had no answer, save to balm his wound by dealing another. "That armor is prettier than it is effective; I fear the icy winds of the north have pierced your heart unhindered."

The north had been rivers of fire and fields of ash when Elrond had traversed it, ere the sea swallowed the land – but Elros had not asked. "If anything, my heart is hot within me," said Elrond as he stood. "But I would not have you burned."

No footsteps sounded after the dull thud of metal hitting wood. When Elros shifted his eyes from the empty room the sword was gone, and with it Elrond. Upon the table shone a branded gold coin embedded with a seashell. Its insignia was that of Finarfin.

~*~

Stepping into the tent, Elros stood blocking the door. "I know what you mean to do, and think less of your captain for permitting it. Had you come under my command instead... are you listening? Were it in my power, I would forbid this madness."

"Yet Eonwe himself has not done so," said Elrond, busy packing less than wise to take – yet all that was at hand. "He bade me follow my own council, and in wisdom I cannot abandon honour. Though the road be dark, I will tread it still, alone since I must.

"Wisdom, you say? Honour? Of folly you speak, and naught else." Elros approached to halt his twin by the arm. "Hearken! What will you do, if you find them? Or if you cannot find them, what then?" Seeing no answer forthcoming, he turned away. Sounds of packing began again. At a loss, Elros gazed around. The tent served another purpose for which it was over-large; Elrond only occupied unused space within, and owned little to leave behind.

"Was a time when I aspired only to master a trade, and stay alive long enough to be useful." The tent fell quiet. Elros continued, "I was thirty years of age when I first commanded a battle, winning the victory. Eonwe said I was born a leader that Men and Elves should follow one so young. But I did not ask for recognition that has yet to cease, nor foresaw coming this far in high regard. Yet you have moved like a ghost through this war; unexpected, triumphant, esteemed only by memory. If the rumors be truth, you have accomplished as much as you have missed: acknowledgment, responsibility, promotion--"

"Elros, I have no time to lose. Why are you saying this?"

"Because I look into your face, and though it be a reflection of my own, it is unfamiliar to me. Chance has led us apart since we first came to this war – do not leave now when it is ended at last."

"I am bound by my word, not choice." At the door, Elrond gave pause. "I head north."

In a sigh Elros said, "And I south."

"Look for them, if you can." Elrond was gone before the reply came, or else it was lost to the rain.

~*~

~*~

Stubbornness led Elros to his bed, and pride lulled him to sleep. Dreams wracked him thereafter, and anxiety urged him awake. For two hours he searched ere sunrise, first the harbor, then the kitchens and mess hall, and last the barracks. Docking mariners and supping Elves and sleeping Men he came across in these places, but nowhere his brother.

Frustration and blame had faded to worry and remorse when Elros paused for a moment of rest, glancing around him at the same pier such joy had been found the night before. Reluctant, he strove to accept the truth, undesirable as it was: Elrond had left Mithlond. "We did not even say farewell..." then he started. In the distance, upon the wind, came a song that was not from the sea.

A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!
silivren penna miriel
o menel aglar elenath,
Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!

He ran towards the source, finding no footprints in the sand before him. Soon he approached an outcropping of craggy rocks blanched with salt and sun. Thereupon was perched a partially nude and mostly wet figure, filleting a fish as he sang.

We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees
The starlight on the Western Seas.

Once near, Elros applauded. Then receiving a look of disapproval, explained, "Ah – the Men do that... ‘tis a show of appreciation, congratulations."

"I know that they do it, and why," said Elrond.

"Seems you know everything of late," came the retort.

Flicking a scale off his knee, Elrond shrugged. "I know not why you came."

Yet Elros knew why his brother had come – and it had naught to do with politics. "To make amends," he replied.

"For last night?"

"For it all, if I can." At his brother’s snort, he sighed. Elrond had never consented to hear of past wrongs, much less accept apologies for them, insisting it was unnecessary, or even imagined. This matter is different, indisputable!... yet Elros could not convince himself of its urgency. "I pressed you yestereve and feared this morning to have driven you away thereby. If you will bide here a while yet, what I would still say can wait. For now, may I at least sit with you?"

In Elrond’s hands were two identical strips of meat, soft as his brother’s words had been. He knew he would-- nay could not stay as long as Elros wished, but he was loath as ever to quarrel. With a sidelong glance he said, "You are overdressed for the occasion."

The forgiveness was subtle, sincere. Elros threw away mantle and tunic as he kicked off his boots, then leapt easily beside his twin, who nodded with a smile at this reciprocation. Any such play was rare even between brothers, fleeting as their shared childhood had been.

Elros was handed a fillet as he sat. "What, no oysters?"

With a wrinkled nose, Elrond said, "You may eat those guts piled there, if such slime appeals to you."

They ate exchanging no words, but the occasional smile surfaced and was returned. Once the scraps were thrown for the seagulls to enjoy, the twain found themselves sitting closer, then half-embraced. It had been long since Elrond knew the warmth of companionship, heard the rhythm of another heart beating beside him. It had not left Elros’ mind that his brother would leave, nor wherefore.

Elrond was first to speak again. "Why did you not accept these Lords’ offers to join their favoured? Have you other plans for yourself?"

"The Valar have other plans for me, I deem. You heard them speak of rewards for the Faithful during the Great Battle, did you not?"

"I heard of pardon for the Exiles.... but what of the Elf-friends who fought on behalf of the Valar? Has their reward been revealed?"

"Not yet. But Eonwe bade me await his return, and the decree of the Valar—-" he smiled, "with a gleam in his eyes, if you understand me."

Tone even, Elrond asked, "What do you expect?"

Gazing beyond the water, Elros was thoughtful. "I expect that they know what is best. But if you would know my mind, I desire all that they could give. A Kingdom for Men is the rumour hereabouts; among that court of Lords I would rather take my place. I have loved this land, but it does not hold my heart--" Unexpectedly, a tear fell upon his shoulder. Elros needed not to look up to know its cause. "Then you will remain, and be as Elf-kind."

"And you will depart, even beyond the circles of the world."

Together the sons of Earendil sat as the morning passed them by, their sorrow shared as ever, but no longer their fate.

~*~

Elves averted their eyes as he passed; Men were simply baffled. Unable to stop, as a tear escaping unchecked, he moved fluidly and without sound. Behind him was a streak of mud where none dared cross the path he had taken, and a murmur arose, voices humming like velvet under the clamor of rain upon metal.

He strode north, leaving the encampment behind; but the storm followed, and waited ahead, and flanked beside. Alone under the bellowing thunder, Elrond showed none of the fear that he felt, even when words came unexpectedly from nearby: "Hail Earendilion, Star-child!"

The voice could have belonged to a Vala, so powerful and fair. Elrond turned to face his fate, even if it be confrontation with a wroth god. Yet it was not so, for alone stood Finarfin, rain-soaked and radiant as a gem under sea-sheen. Wordless, Elrond knelt. "We meet again, my nephew." Approaching, Finarfin rested his hand upon the slick black hair. "Rise now, and follow me."

Under an alcove in the rockface they halted, Finarfin laughing as he swiped water from the others’ cloak. "This weave will not do! Nor will the rest." Without warning he flung it off, next removing baldric then helm. Before Elrond could protest or question Finarfin said, "I came for you earlier, but Elros had found you already. I heard a good portion of your conversation as I waited outside for an appropriate time that did not come before I was required elsewhere. I know that you will not be swayed in this decision now made, but in this way I would help you as I can."

Stripped to his undergarments, Elrond grasped the hands busy with a deed he had not permitted. Again Finarfin spoke first, "Such turmoil in your eyes so young –- be assured! No animosity will result from this day. Never forget that you have the favour of the Valar, Elrond Peredhil, and your forebearers Luthien and Tuor that of Iluvatar Himself."

Looking into his eyes, alight with extinct wonders and insight beyond wisdom, Elrond could not distrust. "I thank you, lord."

His smile shone with kinship and faith. "And I welcome you, to my home and my heart, though Ages must pass until we next meet. Now hurry!" Their attention was then turned to disrobing Finarfin and donning Elrond in that gear.

The armor of Finarfin, as he explained, was of divine make, and blessed by many Powers of Arda. Hard as tortoise shells, smooth as pearls, the color of the Sea and the lifeforms therein. By evil alone, no harm could come to its bearer. Then a water skin and a traveling pack Finarfin retrieved, and his cloak of deep blue. These he gave to Elrond, presenting last of all a sword that, as a poisonous snake in the grass, was perilously subtle in its fashion.

At last they emerged; Finarfin damp but pleased, Elrond dry already but bowed under the weight of the mission before him. The rain had stopped, and now the sun broke through at noon-height, parting the clouds. Finarfin spoke in a sigh, "The time is perfect. Fare thee well."

~*~

~*~

"Are you asleep?"

"Deeply."

Smiling at the jest, Elros turned sideways to face his brother, lying quite awake and looking out of place as a fish in a tree. "Have you not slept upon a mattress such as this before?"

"I have yet to sleep upon one still."

"It takes getting used to, I grant you. Well, I am glad you consented to share mine, nonetheless."

They lay quiet for a while, until a horn, then bell, echoed through the night. "Is that of importance?" Elrond asked.

"To someone; it announces that a sailing race has been won."

"At this hour?"

"The Teleri sleep by day, if they can. Now is to them as noontime is to us." Elros watched as his brother tried once more to abandon wakefulness, before staring again into empty space. "I cannot sleep either."

Unable to think of aught else, Elros went on, "I know you wish not to speak of it, but if you depart tomorrow our time is short. Please hear me. In good conscience, I could not leave my command on the march through Beleriand; nor in good judgment could I march alone into a world that was changing before our very eyes - I did not look for them as you asked, on either side of the Mountains. Forgive me."

Elrond knew this already, and cringed no less to hear it spoken. Yet his reply was unaffected, even calculated, "How did it feel, doing what seemed right despite knowing what I wanted of you differed?"

"Horrible," Elros did not hesitate to say. "Alas that a shadow should dim our reunion; even as I had anticipated your arrival for years, I dreaded this moment also."

"Then forgive me, for I am at cause, and purposefully." Elrond met his brother's astonished gaze without sharing in his surprise. "When I asked you to look for them, it was a false request. My thought was only to teach you what it meant to be true to yourself, and that it is seldom painless."

Elros sprang upright at this revelation. "You knew I would disobey?"

"Aye, and worse, I knew also how you would feel in doing so. 'Tis the same way I felt, leaving as I did though you asked me to stay. It seems so long ago... Do you remember?"

Elros calmed with the memories. "Of course. Also you said you were bound by your word, not choice." Here his voice became hopeful, "Has that not proven worthless? Alas for Maedhros' fate, but might you now reconsider continuing this quest? You were nearly a child, Elrond, giving your word with bravado, not discretion."

"Nor did I consider consequence at the time – even so, I will not break any promise already made."

"Maglor would not hold you to it."

"I hold myself to it. As an honorable man, you must understand why."

Looking upon his twin, Elros understood that and more. He deems this is all he has that is his own. After long thought, he lied back down, beyond anger - instead he laughed. "Well, serves us both right. I will leave you lastly, in the end; I do not remember which of us left the other in the first place."

Elrond remembered without doubt; but he took the hand Elros offered, and held his own tongue as the silence lengthened.

"Unfortunate that Cirdan is not here, at least. He asked about you, and would have rejoiced to meet you -- doubly so to see us both together, I think. He fussed over me like a newborn when we met at Nenuial, glad to tears that I was well, and bore him no ill-will."

"Why would you?"

Hearing that those words were drowsy, Elros looked to see his brother's eyes half-closed at last. He spoke softly, "Because of coming too late to the Havens' defense. Gil-galad feared the same, that I –or we- would be blameful towards him."

"Never blamed aught but Morgoth."

"No," Elros reached over to brush errant hair from the other's face, "you never did." Closed eyelids barely flinched when he asked, "Are you asleep?" Still he waited a moment, ashamed that the courage was not there to speak otherwise. "I hope you find what you search for, brother. I hope you find yourself, as I have." He moved to place a kiss upon still lips, then slipping into sleep wished for kind dreams and an endless night, that the morning would never take his brother away.

~*~

Hope drove him onwards, though the starless night sky was comfortless and uncertain. Faith sustained him, though rain fell not and the land was barren. The waybread in his pack was reserved for dire need, the water in his canteen even more precious. Foraged roots were a delicacy, fungus better than starvation, rabbits and birds spotted only when dreaming. Thrice he had happened across running streams clean enough to drink from, and thrice he had found the footprints which marked his path.

Outpaced was the cold which first greeted him upon this quest; now all was hot and dry and desolate. Rocks sharp as whetted blades, air stifling as heavy fog – but he walked on, each day less confident that his search would not prove to be in vain, each night longer and darker than the last.

Finally the trail was new, footprints uneven but unending. Smitten with joy of triumph he ran, following that path wherever it would lead. It climbed and veered and sloped, but while the ground remained so would the hunter pursue his prey. This is not a game, he told himself, yet he had won. Eyes to the earth, he stopped only to wipe sweat from his face, not seeing the crevasse ahead, nor that the trail met its final end therein.

Foot for foot he matched the prints, until the heat was unbearable – wondering at the source he looked about. In that moment there was a great tremor, like a falling mountain in the distance, or a wrathful ocean surging below. On hands and knees then he crawled forth, and peering over the precipice at last understood: a river of fire was the chasm before him, and into that abyss Maedhros had fallen, in madness and agony to death and beyond.

There was no time to mourn the loss of Maedhros Feanorion or the Silmaril he bore, for the gorge shook again, and the fire rose in anger, lashing its staining red tongues upon the ledge, smearing Maedhros’ last footprints on this earth. Now in dread Elrond fled, hope crushed in the clutches of failure, and he did not look back to see the ground crumbling behind him.

~*~

~*~

Dressed in simple clothes, Elrond departed Mithlond without observation, knowing not if his path might ever bring him back there. He had not met the High King, nor Cirdan or any other Lord of the young realms in Middle-earth. At Eonwe's promised return he would be absent, and likewise omitted from any reward granted the Faithful thereafter. Yet Elrond was faithful to more than the Valar.

At the Grey Havens he crossed the Lhun by ferryboat, and bearing west followed the gulf to the sea, with the Ered Luin ever shrinking in the distance. He trekked through Harlindon, finding that fertile land uninhabited if full of promise, and he marveled to know that this was Ossiriand of old, where in his youth he had dwelt in fear and hardship under the Shadow, an orphan among exiles. None of that evil now remained; the land was at peace, striving only to heal.

Soon the coastline veered east, and from the southern foot of the Ered Luin, woodlands and plains and hills streaked by silver streams stretched far as the eye could see. Looking out upon this land, Elrond was awestruck by its beauty and newness. Everywhere there was lushness and life; nowhere were razed forests or mass graves or sinking marshes, as Beleriand had been reduced to during the Great Battle.

At once he was smitten by a sensation he did not know to name love. "Verily it will be Ages ere I leave this land," he said, certain as a memory, and as unchangeable.

Yet his path was to be one of sand, thus ever he marched southeast, the sea within sight. Few speaking people were met along that way, none of them the one he sought. Days became weeks, then months – soon he ceased to keep tally. At a time now and again he would sit dispirited from long journeying, and wonder at his purpose. Then either by seeing Earendil's star in the West Elrond would be uplifted, remembering his father's faith that had brought salvation to all; or else he would think to hear singing from afar, and be reminded of his promise and the certainty in which it had been made.

'I will return,' he had said as a lad, ere riding off to war. 'Though the years passed be many and all roads since grown dark to me, I will return.'

Gravely Maglor had replied, 'Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.'

'Then I vow to see the nightfall, and to find you there.'

But Maglor Feanorion was never to be found, though it would be centuries until Elrond accepted that, and millennia before he admitted it. No amount of determination or endurance could change another's fate, or one's own; a lesson learned at a high price, the first of many in doom's design.

Upon a sandy bluff that faced the sea, in some uncharted place past a land bordering another called Harad, Elrond stood unmoving as night fell. None were present to see that he gazed downwards, at shallow footprints leading nowhere, which he had followed for... he knew not how long. To no avail he tried to count the days since this had happened last. Be it two decades or two lifespans since Maedhros' trail had ended amidst breaking Beleriand, Elrond did not weep for lost time. Faced with another set of faded footprints in another Age, standing nowhere despite coming so far, Elrond wept for lost purpose, misplaced since the first league.

"So be it!" he cried aloud. "I bid farewell to an echo, an endless path of false hope; if there is naught else, my promise stands unbroken." His voice came back to him, sincere as it had left, the hush of the sea beneath every word. He would not be soothed. "So be it."

In the West one Silmaril shone above, its light reflected upon the watery horizon below. Now northwest Elrond found his own path through unmapped lands, the sea ever beyond sight, and never more unloved.

~*~

He remembered constant walking, dragging numb feet like stones below the ankles, knees wobbling as though the joins were made of the water his canteen was empty of, burning thighs like the lava and fire he fled from. But he shivered with fever, nausea from more than lack of food and drink. Arda was breaking; violently the ground shook, unpredictable, unnerving. For days he had not slept, too frightened, so tired.

Every time the smoke cleared enough to see, another mountain was missing from that jagged line of rock and heaven which surrounded him some days like sentries on watch, and tumbled down on others like felled clouds from a falling sky. Fumes from saltwater fighting molten earth were poisonous, the wind bruising and incessant, memories of that time hazy behind a shroud of illness and fatigue.

After too many wrong turns and dead ends he was fatally delayed, saw with his sharp eyes the safelands beyond from a high and breaking cliff on the sinking ground beneath. Being too weary to weep he went a little mad, knowing long striving despite fading hope was for naught. He would have been killed by falling stone or boiling magma if not for the flooding sea that had none of his love and never would. Fey laughter filled his heart as the massive wave came crashing down, but continued in his ears even as he drowned.

Forgotten be the judgment and mercy dealt therein that place twixt death and depth, while a soothing voice of one spouse spoke to another words without meaning. The wrath of Osse curtailed by the bidding of Uinen in a matter of song, awash in a tide of unconsciousness and doom's decree. Remembered be waking upon a bed of niphredil as a stranger in a strange land.

Elrond sat upright, finding himself amid a coppice of reeds, and thought he had only dreamt. Along the beach he walked as one revived after long rest, two voices echoing behind him in a foreign tongue. In the seaward distance remained the high hill of Himring, now an island and sole remainder of the sunken realms of Beleriand.

~*~

~*~

Neither felt certain who might be intruding upon whom. One had slipped away when attentive eyes looked elsewhere; the other had stood resting since the twilight ere this dawn. Soon silence would become impoliteness, so one turned fully towards the other.

"Good morrow," said the Elf. Turning briefly, the taller one bowed his hooded head in reply. The Elf continued with a smile, "Though perhaps I should, I do not recognize you." By which he thought the hood might be removed.

The stranger missed the hint, or saw no reason to comply. "I arrived but yesterday, having travelled with Dwarf-merchants from the east."

The Elf nodded. He had already assessed the other's garb of foreign and various origins, marked by signs of long use and many travels. No merchant is he, was his thought, and obviously no Dwarf. He said, "What brings an explorer such as yourself to the King's Garden in Forlond?"

The other showed a small start, then glanced about. "The King's own garden?"

"Oh, no," the Elf laughed. "The King does not tend it, nor hold it private, nor indeed visit often; it is simply addressed as such."

After quieting again, he answered, "I am weary -or I had become so- and thought returning here to journey's beginning of long ago that I might find another, and be glad for it."

"Hmm. Myself, I was restless after a day spent indoors. Sometimes birds come hither with news of the lands beyond - and very rarely, Elves." The Elf waited to catch the stranger's gaze, imploring.

He flashed a smile, and his eyes gleamed with that sidelong glance. "No bird am I, nor an Elf, but I could tell you a tale or two if it pleases."

So he spoke of realms afar, with foreign names and strange cultures, their relations twixt one another and their opinions of themselves. Then he spoke of those he met therein by chance or fate, and what purpose they served among their kindred of importance or inconsequence. Some Elves he had met also, amid wooded lands and hidden beaches; yet these did not build, nor treat with Men, being a wandering and wild sort. Though he spoke cursorily, it was long until he ended with his tenure amongst the Dwarves of Moria, and still he had said nothing of those creatures discovered without names, of which there were many.

The Elf was pensive, falling quiet after many requests for greater detail throughout the telling. At length he said, "These tidings are invaluable. Few have gone so far, or learned so much; our knowledge of the far countries is little, and old. Can you write? Can you draw? I would have you commissioned – maps and treatises I desire, among other things. How long will you stay, or how soon can you return?"

This was nothing the stranger had not heard before. Yet several times in the past, his interest in the work had eventually surpassed that of those who thought to want it. He replied as usual, to discourage casual requests, "Are you a Lord of this land and its people, to have use for such materials?"

"Yes indeed," said the Elf. "But I have been remiss of your own needs. Mayhap the duty I would appoint you is not the journey you thought to find. What was the last, which has ended? And what is your name?"

This the stranger had also been asked before, though now he could answer without exclusions, trusting an Elf would understand things such as a mortal would not. "It began in Beleriand, though I knew it not at the time. I was born a child of refugees, then became an orphan of war, spared out of mercy – or so I thought. With that mistake at heart I made a promise, to return after war anew to those whom a life-debt I owed, to say nothing of fealty. But ever my rescuers were bound by an oath of their own, and it neither pity nor love could sway; therefore my presence thanks to theirs brought never remembrance of fortune, but of past weakness and more bound to come.

"So my quest was in vain, to find those already lost, and repay a favor never given. It has been a hard road, and slow-going, to finish back where I started. Yet is that not the very essence of life, that we return after trials and errors whence we came? Ah, I digress. You asked, lord, for my name: I am Elrond Halfelven, son of Earendil and Elwing. Long have I sought the brethren Maedhros and Maglor, yet they have both ended, and much folly along with them." He looked fully upon the Elf now, whose face was filled with amazement, and somehow familiar. "And though perhaps I should, I do not recognize you."

"We did meet, long ago," the Elf's speech was stilted, "but you were just a babe, who would not yet suffer to be parted from his mother. I knew your father better... indeed, I have known more of your relatives than even you."

Elrond closed his eyes, and opened them to the past. The half-grown Elf in a portrait that he had gazed up at as a child could not be the Lord who stood shorter than him now. Yet it was. "Gil-galad."

"Aye." He stepped forward, not tentatively, to look closer at the face before him. Obligingly Elrond removed his hood, and the High King smiled. "Ha! Almost identical, just as when you were infants. It has been long since I last saw your brother, but without that hood I would have recognized his twin. Speaking of Elros, he is Tar-Minyatur, first King of Numenor, the Land of Gift. Have you heard of this?"

Elrond bowed of a sudden, feeling some gesture of respect was belated and deserved. "Only recently, my Lord. The Dwarves share little about themselves, though they were free with news of the western provinces. I am glad for him."

Gil-galad's look turned perceptive, yet his bearing remained informal. "Well, kingship is oft glorified. So said my father before me, and so I say now: no less vital is the plougher to the baker or the ruler who keeps peace between them – a song is made of many notes. Though I am pleased for my part, still in ways I envy your type, free of spirit and fleet of foot.

"But of those foreign lords, think you by your time with them that their successors will have change in their thoughts? As I said, our knowledge is poor; it has long been in my mind to remedy that. Yet those dependable and travel-hardy or undaunted by newness are few and... hmm. You would make a fine herald, you know."

And so began a friendship unending, yet of it more is not here recounted.

~*~

The boy ran down the shore, calling in a crude tongue, "Father, father! Come look!" His father stood ahead, looking with dismay at the meager catch after a day’s work, and turned now with limited patience.

"You know I cannot. While daylight lasts I must fish. Now look at your shoes gotten all wet! Go home and help the women with chores, boy. I have been distracted eyeing you all day." A glance up the beach revealed small prints that stretched even out of sight. The man had wrongly thought his son to be sitting right behind him.

"But father, you must see. I have found a dead thing!"

A beached corpse could provide many days worth of food, if the meat was not spoiled. The man brightened at this good fortune. "What is it? How does it smell?"

"Not a man," the child wanted to be sure. "And it does not smell."

The man drove his spear into the ground and bid his son lead the way, who saw fit to talk nonstop. In short time, the creature became gigantic -but small enough to roast- then beautiful -but not like a person- and hard as a rock -but soft on the inside. When the man tired of hearing the story change according to his reaction, he bade his son be quiet.

Soon the boy leapt aside to retrieve a discarded stick. "Here is the weapon I used to slay it!" The man groaned at this new untruth. "Come, father!" The child ran ahead, veering away from the shore towards a thicket of reeds, then dashing into them. The man followed, his calls to wait unheeded. Panting he stopped beside his son, who stood gaping at nothing. "Gone!" he cried, then pointing said, "The creature was right there!"

The man walked forward and crouched. "Were these white flowers here also?" His son avowed that they were. Hand to the ground, he frowned at the warmth and curved dent. "A body did lay here." Standing he crept through the coppice.

A new set of footprints now lined the beach, and in that second either a mirage or a glimmer of metal descended out of sight beyond the horizon. Chills went down the man’s spine, and his empty hand flinched for the spear he had left behind. "W-we can chase it, fell it," his son said in a scared voice.

"It walks on two legs, and lives. We cannot eat it." He did not confess that he feared to pursue it... whatever it was. He began to walk whence they came; his son followed, babbling in disbelief.

"It was all hunkered like it washed up, and it had black hair spilt out the top of its shell! It did not move when I poked it--" His father spun, his grasp firm on the little shoulder.

"Never wander so far again, boy." That promise was made, and the man carried his son back to camp. The traveling tribe of woodsmen ever after avoided the sea, remembering it as a haunted place. In later years, the creature unencountered would come to feel the same.

~`end`~

Footnotes (or, of obscure facts and attempted creativity):

~*Finarfin indeed fought in the War of Wrath: ‘But the host of the Valar prepared for battle; and beneath their white banners marched the Vanyar, the people of Ingwe, and those also of the Noldor who never departed from Valinor, whose leader was Finarfin the son of Finwe.’ -- The Silmarillion
Finarfin’s peculiar armor and its subsequent donation to Elrond is solely an element of this story (no telling in canon if they even met).

~*Elrond was at least present during the War of Wrath – in his own words: ‘It recalled to me the glory of the Elder Days and the hosts of Beleriand, so many great princes and captains were assembled. And yet not so many, not so fair, as when Thangorodrim was broken, and the Elves deemed that evil was ended for ever, and it was not so.’ -- The Council of Elrond
I'm proposing that he was a successfully active participant in the war, along with Elros, and also got a young start.

~*Lake Evendim (Nenuial) as a safe haven during the changing of the landscape following the War of Wrath is solely an element of this story – I'm proposing the Valar (or someone, maybe Eonwe) knew that place would remain undamaged, and led the host there (who found refugees already in occupation).

~*The Grey Havens and Lindon were established at the beginning of the Second Age: ‘In Lindon north of the Lune dwelt Gil-galad, last heir of the kings of the Noldor in exile. He was acknowledged as High King of the Elves of the West. In Lindon south of the Lune dwelt for a time Celeborn, kinsman of Thingol; his wife was Galadriel, greatest of Elven women.’ -- The Tale of Years
It's my adaptation that Celeborn and Galadriel were among those in residence at Nenuial, and relocated to reign in south Lindon by invitation of the High King of that realm.

~*The Edain reached Numenor in the 32nd year of the Second Age – where they stayed before then is anyone's guess. For my purposes, I put Elros at the Grey Havens.

~*Maglor's line: 'Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall' is said in canon by Elrond (The Ring Goes South); I thought it clever to imply he had learned it from someone who knew well the peril of oaths made lightly.

~*Remembered be waking upon a bed of niphredil as a stranger in a strange land. Niphredil is the flower that bloomed in Doriath when Luthien was born... 'and the white flowers of niphredil came forth to greet her as stars from the earth' (Silmarillion). If readers wish to perceive a resemblance of rebirth or an innocent nod to kinship, they have my permission.

~*Elrond's promise and his subsequent search for the Feanorions is entirely the author's imagination hard at work. He was Gil-galad's herald though: 'I was the herald of Gil-galad and marched with his host.' (The Council of Elrond)

Last Note:

Elrond's line: 'Time was when a squirrel could go from tree to tree from what is now the Shire to Dunland west of Isengard. In those lands I journeyed once, and many things wild and strange I knew' (The Council of Elrond), was what sparked the inspiration to write this story, and for it among other things I thank Tolkien.