But Arwen went forth from the House, and the light of her eyes was quenched, and it seemed to her people that she had become cold and grey as nightfall in winter that comes without a star. Then she said farewell to Eldarion, and to her daughters, and to all whom she had loved; and she went out from the city of Minas Tirith and passed away to the land of Lórien, and dwelt there alone under the fading trees until winter came. Galadriel had passed away and Celeborn also was gone, and the land was silent.

There at last when the mallorn-leaves were falling, but spring had not yet come, she laid herself to rest upon Cerin Amroth; and there is her green grave, until the world is changed, and all the days of her life are utterly forgotten by men that come after, and elanor and niphredil bloom no more east of the Sea.

The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, Appendix A, Lord of the Rings

Chapter 1: The Passing of the Evenstar

Celeborn watched her come through the massive gates alone. The city was nearly silent. He was glad they remained at a distance, for he did not wish to hear the soft weeping of the people as she passed. He remembered well the day he and three with him had ridden to the White City and she had become Queen of this people she had grown to love. Yet none of Men remembered it, for not a mortal man alive then was alive still.

He could see the thousands of eyes glistening with tears as they watched the only Queen they had known ride away with dignity and grace, and a grief so profound it pained all those who had dared to look upon her. Yet they could not help but look.

As he could not help either.

To their eyes, their queen looked barely older now than the portraits that had captured her six score of years earlier. But he could see the difference, especially since Aragorn had died. She was torn in two, and her joy had departed.

He had heard the whispered questions of the people, wondering if she went to rejoin the elves or if she went to die. He knew the answer, as he knew she did too. Her choice had been made and her doom appointed on Cerin Amroth, many years before. He had known then that she would never sail, regardless of circumstance and what fate dealt her. He knew also that she would never join what elves remained yet in Middle-earth.

Celeborn looked with far seeing eyes to the Citadel. There stood his great-grandson, a man he had come to respect as much as he had Aragorn, and to love even more. Eldarion was rigid, his face frozen, as he watched his mother ride away. Yet Celeborn knew Eldarion had not tried to dissuade her and had forbidden all in Gondor to follow her.

But his eyes had beseeched his great-grandfather and uncles, and he had relinquished her to their final care.

Celeborn felt Elrohir stir at his side, and he turned to look upon his grandson. Elrohir was unguarded beside him, his heart easily read, and Celeborn drifted along the waves of the sea that rolled through his mind. Celeborn had been aware of Elrohir’s struggle for some years. Elrohir had long been able to suppress his sea longing, but Celeborn had found his control weakening since Aragorn had given up his life.

He laid a calming hand upon Elrohir’s arm. “Not yet,” he said gently.

Elrohir sighed audibly, but checked his horse. On Celeborn’s other side, Elladan remained motionless.

They waited until she had passed beyond the Rammath Echor before they followed. If she knew of their presence, she gave no indication. Even from a distance, Celeborn could see she was withdrawn inside herself.

She ate nearly nothing and slept little, resting only in deference to the horse. They drew closer as the days passed, for she seemed unaware of her surroundings.

Among themselves they spoke little. This day had long been foreseen, but nothing could have prepared those who loved Arwen to see her end as her father had feared. They had said their farewells to Aragorn, and he had given up his life and was gone. He had known Arwen was not prepared to accept the Gift, but he knew that his remaining longer would not bring her closer to acceptance. In that knowledge he had asked a last favor of Glorfindel.

“It will be as Elrond feared,” said Aragorn. “Arwen will find the doom of Men bitter, and her grief will not carry her away quickly or easily. Only when she accepts the doom will she pass and find peace. A favor I would ask of one so dear, who has long watched over Elrond and his children: let none delay her with comfort.”

Glorfindel had bowed his head at Aragorn’s words. What Aragorn requested could not be asked of Celeborn or Elladan and Elrohir. Yet, even in his pain, Celeborn knew Aragorn was right. Celeborn had watched as Glorfindel nodded, and then embraced Aragorn for the last time. “Whatever the fate of Men’s souls, may your peace and reward be great, Aragorn son of Arathorn.” He paused, then added softly, “Estel son of Elrond.”

Aragorn held him close a moment longer, murmuring, “For my adar.”

Now they shadowed Arwen’s ride north, following her across lands that had changed much since the King had returned. After many days, she crossed the Celebrant and entered the woods of Lothlorien. Celeborn’s heart filled with joy at being in his beloved woods again, but sorrow replaced his joy nearly as quickly. None now dwelt there, and the gates to Caras Galadhon were open and in disrepair. Yet the memory of the elves remained strong.

Arwen walked on paths of deep leaf mould, long unattended, wandering among the trees and the remnants of the passages into their heights. Many of the flets had crumbled and the winding staircases to them were missing stairs and balustrades.

Yet summer had not faded and the Niphredil and Elanor still bloomed, and they watched Arwen set her jaw as she had since she was a small child when determined to accomplish some task. She repaired a flet near the stream and gathered wood, and one would have thought she had not spent six score years as queen of the White City, but as a woman keeping her own homestead. Yet despite the steps she took to see to her own well-being, the light in her eyes did not return.

Celeborn allowed Glorfindel to order their camp and watches, for he found he did not trust his own hands to set limits. Glorfindel arranged their time so that one of them always kept watch over her, bearing the long days with the patience born of long life, as she spent her time in thought and song, reading one of the few small tomes she had carried with her, or studying the likeness of Estel that she kept near to her heart. Summer turned to fall, and the Mellyrn leaves turned golden.

At this, Celeborn’s heart sang and his memories of Galadriel and their days in these woods became as clear and fresh as if they had lived here only yesterday. He was returning to their camp with the rabbits he had caught for their dinner when his rejoicing left him with the suddenness of a sword stroke. He dropped the coneys and had to sit before he fell. Glorfindel and Elrohir were at his side a moment later.

“In recent years, I have not traveled this way, for the Mellyrn had faded and no longer did their leaves shine golden. The Golden Wood was golden no more,” he said

“It is not our presence that has brought about the return of color,” said Elrohir softly. “We too have passed through in fall and winter, and not since you left have the leaves showed their pleasure. It is because Arwen again dwells beneath their canopy.”

Celeborn drew in a deep breath and nodded. Elrohir stood and walked toward the wood where his twin now kept watch. His form was tense and uneasy, and Glorfindel raised a brow at Celeborn in question. Before they could speak, Elrohir returned to the fire, but he sat for only a moment before grabbing a basket and walking away to the river. He started out walking but soon was running, his dark hair flowing loose behind him.

Glorfindel looked at him, and his brow was creased in worry. “Elrohir . . .,” he began.

Celeborn shifted positions, leaning back against the log and stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Elrohir’s restlessness grows. The sea longing rages within him.”

Glorfindel watched Elrohir fade into the trees. “It is difficult to husband one’s emotions when you know not how long . . ..” His voice faded, and Celeborn looked at him sharply. There was no easy way to say what they were both thinking.

“The Mellyrn bring him both despair and hope,” said Glorfindel finally.

Celeborn sighed and bowed his head. Trepidation had filled him when Arwen had shrugged off the heavy cloak of grief and taken measures to live, for each of them felt as if a clock had been ticking, each beat slower and slower, waiting for its end to come. Now the clock beat steadily, and the burden upon them grew in proportion. Arwen existed, but did not live.

“The fight in her is easily read,” said Celeborn after a long silence. “She had not grown weary of this world when Estel left it. In the long days afterward, grief became a heavy burden, but it did not claim her. She knows not how to live without him, but neither is she ready to join him.”

“Not ready, or does she not know how to relinquish her hold on life? Or is it fear of what waits beyond?” mused Glorfindel.

“A measure of each, perhaps,” replied Celeborn.

Elrohir returned without the basket. He did not speak to either of them, but threw himself to the ground and covered his face with his arm. Celeborn was about to go to him when he felt Glorfindel brush against his mind. Let me.

Glorfindel sat down beside Elrohir, shading his face from the setting sun. Elrohir gradually moved his arm down, and did not pull away when Glorfindel began stroking his head. Celeborn could see his grandson’s façade falling away beneath that gentle touch, until he was laid bare before the powerful elf lord.

Despite what Celeborn perceived to be the elf’s best efforts, fear appeared in Glorfindel’s eyes. He carefully and gently pushed Elrohir into sleep, and then opened his mind to Celeborn.

This is more than sea longing, said Glorfindel finally. He is restless, but there are wounds to his fëa that I can only liken to what I saw in Elrond when Vilya failed.

Celeborn closed his eyes to the pain pounding in his head. I suspected it, but did not know for sure. Anger rose up within him. I wish the Three had never been made!

We may wish that, but we would not be sitting here with Elrohir were that the case, replied Glorfindel sadly. And Elrohir would not wish for us to second guess the choices Elrond made. One night in Imladris we discussed what would happen to all that had been preserved and healed with the Three. Elrohir knew he was top on that list, more so than any other person alive, and he said then he preferred living to spending an age in Mandos’s Halls.

For these many years since Elrond and Galadriel sailed, he has persevered and I think been happy. Why now? Is grief reopening old wounds? wondered Celeborn.

I do not know what else it could be, admitted Glorfindel.

Their attention turned as they saw Elladan approach. Celeborn resumed fixing their meal, and when it was ready, they awakened Elrohir and ate together in silence. When Elladan had finished, he rose. “I am going for a walk.”

Elrohir also rose, returning to the woods to sit watch over Arwen.

Celeborn and Glorfindel watched them both go.

“What of Elladan?”

“He also grows more restless, but it is of a different type,” answered Celeborn. “I cannot entirely read him.” He paused, then slowly managed to speak the words he had long feared. “He reminds me of Elros before he made his… choice.”

Glorfindel’s face froze. “Elrond long feared this.”

Celeborn sighed. “You do not comfort me.” There was a long pause, then he blurted out, “My mind is racing and my heart in turmoil. I am here waiting for my granddaughter to die, and I find one grandson fading and the other casting his thought beyond this world into what might lie beyond.”

He flung his plate against a nearby rock, the clang and thud a discordant noise in the song of the night. His hands shook. How could they end like this? For a century he had lived without his beloved wife, and yet been happy in the restoration of the forest, the happiness of his granddaughter and the new life of great-grandchildren. All of their lives had been irrevocably changed by mortality, and Aragorn’s death had started a ticking clock that Arwen must eventually heed, a clock that might claim his grandsons too. Hatred for the land he loved rose within him.

He stood, and Glorfindel caught his hands. He looked into that face and saw sorrow and fear and pity.

“I have never really understood them, and in some ways, Elrond least of all,” said Glorfindel sadly. “I do not know how I could face him if I came with neither of his sons, and yet I have always known that this possibility existed, as did he. But tonight our plans must change, Celeborn, for the sake of Elladan and Elrohir, if not ourselves.”

“Arwen,” said Celeborn hoarsely.

“I will stay with Arwen. You must take the twins away, for a time, at least.”

“Elrohir means to intervene,” said Celeborn dully.

“I know,” sighed Glorfindel, and his shoulders slumped. He straightened after a moment. “I will go to him.”

Celeborn watched as Glorfindel entered the woods, and he thanked the Valar that he did not need do this thing. Aragorn had been wise to ask Glorfindel to see to this, for he did not think he could withhold anything from his dear Arwen, nor stop her brothers from helping her.

He walked instead after Elladan, and found him, as he suspected he might, near the high mound from which the river and all the surrounding lands were visible. They stood together in silence for a long while. Elladan spoke first.

“Desire had grown within me, to go with her, so that she would not be afraid.” Elladan paused for another long moment, and Celeborn suddenly realized he was holding his breath and his heart was pounding. He forced himself to relax.

Elladan continued, “Yet, I do not think that that is the way of mortal death. That journey must be made alone. I thought at first that she was unwilling to go with Aragorn when he chose his time. Now I see that she might have followed at any moment, within a breath of Estel even, but go alone she must.”

“Was your desire to seek beyond the circles of the world for you own sake, or for Arwen’s?” Celeborn finally asked.

“I do not know,” answered Elladan softly.

He said no more, and Celeborn did not press him. They walked slowly back toward camp, but came first upon Glorfindel and Elrohir. The basket that Elrohir had taken earlier from camp was open upon the ground, fall berries spilled from it. Near it lay a spare blanket and a small pile of kindling.

Glorfindel sat upon the ground, strain and worry obvious in his face. Elrohir lay with his head on Glorfindel’s leg. Celeborn watched as Glorfindel’s long slender hand trembled against Elrohir’s head. Elrohir’s eyes were closed, but his face was contorted in mental anguish.

Celeborn felt rather than heard the small cry from Elladan as he went to his brother. “She will be cold,” Elrohir choked out as Elladan wrapped his arms around him. His heart nearly broke as Elrohir shook; grief, sorrow, frustration and despair radiating from him in waves so intense that Celeborn felt his mind flooded. “She will not have enough to eat soon.”

His own tears wet his face as he tried to think of some response to Elrohir’s words, but none would come. Aragorn’s request resounded in his ears, yet what was comfort that denied release?

Comfort she will have when she is ready, promised Glorfindel. Pray I will know when and how.

The four went back to the grey tent in which they dwelled, and for the first time Arwen slept only under the watch of their thought. Elrohir fell into exhausted sleep beside Celeborn, but Elladan, like Celeborn, did not sleep at all. He simply stared at the fire.

When morning came, Glorfindel spoke. “Go and see if Legolas has built his ship,” he said. “See if he persists in his mirth of taking the dwarf with him.”

Celeborn gave the twins no chance to protest, despite his own heavy heart. “We will be back before spring,” he promised.

* * *

They returned to Lothlorien at winter’s end. Celeborn had felt the same sense of urgency that Elladan and Elrohir did, and they simply left one night from Ithilien without speaking to anyone of where they were going or why. They had spent the fall and early winter resting in the gardens of the elf-colony that Legolas had left behind, for indeed, both he and Gimli had disappeared. They did not speak to any Men.

Elrohir had grown a little stronger, a little less translucent, and Elladan seemed less restless. Celeborn had tried only once to speak to Elladan about their conversation, but Elladan had shaken his head.

They left their horses at the camp and passed slowly through the woods, seeking Glorfindel. Celeborn saw Arwen’s flet, but she was not there, and though he searched the woods for her, she was not within his sight. The trees were singing, a different song than he had before heard. He followed where they led him, and was not far along the path before he knew where she had gone.

With great self-restraint, he kept his grandsons at his side as they came to Cerin Amroth. Before they saw either Arwen or Glorfindel, they heard Glorfindel singing. The lullaby was not elvish, but of her adopted people, and it was calling her across the river to peace.

She stood straight and tall upon the hill where she had plighted her troth and sealed her fate so many years before. Then, on that mound, she sank to her knees and then laid down upon it. There she lay, and finally her pride and stoicism failed, and tears slid down her cheeks.

Celeborn could see her light begin to fade. Then Glorfindel materialized from the trees, and he went to her. Slipping an arm beneath her shoulders, he cradled her in his lap. She looked up at him and they heard her whisper, “It is time.”

Glorfindel kissed her brow. “Estel is waiting.”

He began to sing again, words of Men, words he did not understand, of promise and peace beyond the circles of the world. Arwen kept her eyes on Glorfindel, and then overcame her fear and doubt.

“Estel,” she breathed out.

Her light departed, and Glorfindel’s voice broke. He bowed his head over her as he wept.

Celeborn bent beneath his grief for only a moment before he began to sing. He let go of his grandsons and walked forward, and heard their voices join his as they fell in step beside him. They mourned their loss, the trees joining them, but they did not sing of healing in Mandos’ Halls or reunion at some future time. When they had finished the song, it was Elladan who began a new song, of the reunions she would find beyond the circles of the world, of freedom and of hope.

They prepared her grave and wrapped her in her cloak, burying her where she had made her choice and appointed her fate.

Then Celeborn looked upon Glorfindel and found him, for the first time in the millennia he had known the elf, at the end of himself. The long winter of waiting was a burden that had nearly broken him and he had finally grown weary of the world. And though he did not feel called West, Celeborn found he no longer wished to stay in Middle-earth. “It is time to go home.”

He watched the reaction of his grandsons. Elrohir’s grief parted and he looked first west, and then at his twin. Elladan did not look at any of them.

They began the journey south, skirting Ithilien and Minas Tirith, and heading for the havens at Dol Amroth. It was here that they had once spoken of building their ship and departing, as other elves had before them many years before. They found a message for them at the city gate.

The followed the directions in the missive, and made their way to a lonely quay where a single ship was moored, out of sight of the rest of harbor. The note indicated that on board were the items the twins had asked to be held for them – portraits, letters and sketches chronicling the life of Arwen and Aragorn – a gift to their parents. Celeborn read the note and smiled. “My great-grandson is a good and wise man.”

“Did you expect less from the son of our sister and brother?” asked Elrohir, and it was the first he had smiled in months. Then he sighed and his smile faded, and he leaned against the rail of the ship.

Celeborn followed Elrohir’s gaze. He was watching his twin. Elladan was staring out to sea, lost in thought. Finally, he turned and walked back to them. Celeborn was struck by the intensity of the gaze he subjected Elrohir to, and he felt that something was happening between them. Elrohir did not blink or cow as Elladan’s eyes grew dark and piercing, and for a moment it seemed as if Elladan grew in stature, until he was towering over Elrohir.

It was as if Elladan’s gaze stripped Elrohir bare. Elrohir’s deep grief, his wounded fëa, and the sea longing that was battering him relentlessly were raw and open before them, and Celeborn had to restrain his hand, for he wished to reach out and provide relief. Yet he somehow knew that he and Glorfindel were witnesses to a spectacle playing out before them, as if on a stage, and they had no right to interfere.

Then with a cry, Elladan tore himself away. He turned and walked swiftly up the pier and disappeared into the trees. Celeborn watched him, then spun back around as Glorfindel caught Elrohir as he fell.

They lowered him to the wooden planks. Elrohir took several deep breaths, then accepted the water skin Glorfindel held out to him and drank. He was pale and beads of sweat shone on his forehead. He did not resist when Celeborn wetted his handkerchief and wiped his face.

“What is it, Elrohir?” he asked in growing fear.

Elrohir opened his eyes and to Celeborn’s surprise, he had mastered himself. His gaze was unfathomable. “You and Glorfindel should board the ship and see that all is made ready to sail.”

Celeborn’s hands trembled. “You are not coming?”

Elrohir did not answer. He rose and steadied himself on Glorfindel’s arm. “We will be back before nightfall,” he finally said. On wooden legs, he walked to the end of the pier and disappeared, though he did not follow his twin.

The sun was dipping into the sea when they returned. Elladan’s face was resolute as he stepped aboard the ship. Elrohir followed more slowly, and to Celeborn’s eye, he had grown more translucent. Elladan glanced at Elrohir with unguarded heart, and Celeborn read the depth of the love he bore for his twin, but also the depth of some greater sorrow.

When Elrohir reached for the rope to release the ship, Elladan caught his arm and pushed him gently towards Glorfindel. Then he turned back to Celeborn and together they released the mooring lines and raised the sail.

None saw their ship slip from the harbor, and they did not look back.

* * * * *

To be continued……

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this story.

Chapter 2: Into the West

Elrond awakened in the early dawn with his heart beating quickly. Celebrían was curled against him, her chest rising and falling with each breath, and he reassured himself she was well by running his hand along her side. She moved instinctively into his touch and even in his state of unrest, he smiled.

He slid from his bed and walked out on to the balcony. Water cascaded over the falls, their song a balm to his soul. In the night sky, Eärendil approached, having completed his nightly journey. The ship drew near, lingering over him, and the star’s light dimmed and briefly disappeared before the ship continued as if under a veil to where it rested each day.

And Elrond knew. The threads of his spirit had strengthened; he had healed and grown strong under the loving touch of Celebrían and the extended family he had found here. But like a harp with many strings, the breaking of one beyond the reach of his fingers was still felt acutely, and the music of his soul was changed. I knew also with Elros, he reminded himself, as the dull ache grew within him.

He felt Celebrían at his side, and he drew her close to him, wrapping his dressing gown around them both. Her tears were damp against his chest. They held each other silently as the sun rose around them to begin a new day.

Many elves had noted Eärendil’s unusual dimming over the House of Elrond. Messengers and visitors began arriving that night, and Elrond was more grateful than he had ever been to Erestor. It was he who prepared the house for a time of mourning, and who answered callers wondering what trouble had befallen the house. “The Evenstar has passed beyond the circles of this world,” he would answer calmly, though with great sorrow in his voice.

“Many will come,” said Celebrían. “I feel selfish in wishing to be alone with our household, but they will come because they love us, and we must let them.”

“I have arranged pavilions to be spread upon the lawn,” answered Erestor. “Do not trouble yourself with preparations. They are in order.”

In this, Elrond was confident. In his house had resided the mortal hobbits. They had been a curiosity to many, and they had seemed to enjoy meeting the many elves who had come to visit them. Not long after Sam had arrived, Bilbo had given up his life, and a time of mourning and remembrance had been held. Frodo and Sam had gone on their final journey as close together as any two mortals could several years later, and their home had again known mourning and sorrow. On both occasions, great numbers of elves, along with many of the Ainur, had come to remember and celebrate their lives.

Yet in lands that do not know death, there were few who could comprehend what it meant to be separated from their kin by mortality. Many elves remained in Mandos’s Halls, some who might never be re-embodied. Their kin suffered this separation, and it was perhaps the closest thing to what Elrond’s family now endured. Yet only Lúthien before her had so chosen the fate that Arwen had embraced, a parting that rent the bonds of their souls.

Idril and Tuor arrived the next day by ship with Galadriel’s family. Gil-galad came also, for he had not forgotten that it was he who sat with Elrond the night that Elros left Lindon, as well as the night Elros died. Elwing and Eärendil arrived with Eonwë, and perhaps most unexpectedly, the Valar Nienna and Estë.

Elrond had been young when he had first met them, having just been sundered from his twin by Elros’s choice. He had never forgotten their words, nor had he missed the fulfillment of them with Arwen’s choice. His destiny had been in the shared blood of the secondborn, as Eönwë had said. He was glad that the meaning had not been clear to him for nearly two ages. Yet despite the pain he felt now at Arwen’s death, he was still thankful for the age he had had her.

Three evenings after the passing of the Evenstar, they gathered in the great hall of Elrond’s house.

“The fate of the Peredhil has been filled with grief and sorrow, for elves and men were not created for each other,” began Eonwë. “Yet both are children of Ilúvatar and dear to his heart, and a great role has been played out in the annals of Arda by those of mixed race. The marriage of Arwen and Aragorn tied up the lines of the half-elven that began in Gondolin with Eärendil and in Doriath, with Dior son of Lúthien. In their son Eldarion the kingship of men is renewed, for the blood of the Eldar flows strong in his veins, and the dignity of Númenor is restored through the valor of Aragorn. With the Fourth Age begins the dominion of Men.

“The fate of Men is not known to us,” continued Eönwë. “Yet it is a Gift of Ilúvatar and one that we should not fear, though the One also knows the pain of kin separated by this Doom. Yet the Peredhil have been faithful, answering the calls and summons we have set before them, despite the great griefs laid upon them.” He paused, resting a hand on Elrond’s bowed head for a moment. “None, perhaps, more so than you. Mortality’s touch will leave a gap that cannot be fully mended, but peace will come to this house in time.”

Eönwë bowed before them. Nienna and Estë moved among them, bringing comfort and peace to those present, in particular to the line of the half-elven and their families. The minstrels played, and Elrond and Celebrían were particularly moved by Lindir’s composition, for he had known Arwen from birth and Aragorn too, and his ballad celebrated their lives while mourning with those who had been separated from them.

Elrond found his mind filled with memories, and while the perfect recall of the elves often pained him, he found himself grateful on this day. He could recall every detail of his beloved child, every moment of her life.

“Did you know that she forbade me to see her again when we parted at Edoras?” he said to Celebrían. At Celebrían’s surprised look, he continued, “She was afraid that if I saw her children born, I would stay in Middle-earth to see them grow. She told me I was thin and brittle, and I needed you and must go. She did not ask: she commanded me.”

Galadriel laughed. “I received much the same directive. Arwen was wise, and more far-seeing than I sometimes realized.” She smiled sadly. “She did not so command her grandfather or brothers, however. She conspired with them instead, and Glorfindel. For this I am glad, for knowing they were there to watch over her has brought me great comfort.”

Elrond felt a warmth spread through him at the thought of Glorfindel. The elf indeed stayed to watch over one he thought of as a daughter, but he suspected that Arwen had commanded him to ensure that grandfather and brothers did not linger too long, either.

Elrond felt joy seep into his heart, and knew Celebrían and Galadriel did as well. As grievous as was Arwen’s passing, hope filled them that sons and husband would arrive soon.

* * *

Celeborn awakened to find Elladan at the wheel of the ship. His grandson stood tall and proud, his gaze on something far off in the distance. He rose and tossed aside his blanket, and when he had gained his sea legs, he joined him.

“Where is Elrohir?” he asked.

“I did not wake him for his watch.” Elladan glanced at Celeborn and smiled. “Sleep agreed with you, Daeradar.”

Celeborn looked over Elladan with a careful eye. The grim, torn person of the day before was gone, and before him stood a soul who seemed content with the future. Had he read the situation correctly, then? What had transpired between his grandsons?

Glorfindel came yawning toward them a few minutes later. His weariness was also less obvious, and his eyes brightened as he looked west. He is going home, Celeborn reminded himself. A home he knows and has missed.

“Is it my turn to steer this boat yet?” asked Glorfindel, his hands reaching for the wheel.

Elladan laughed and released it to Glorfindel. “Ship, Glorfindel, it is a ship.” Glorfindel spun the wheel slightly and released it and the ship turned a little off course, but then seemed to put itself back on course.

Celeborn had been knocked off balance by the sudden turn and forced to grasp the rail. He glared at Glorfindel who laughed in delight.

“Perhaps not,” retorted Elladan, pushing Glorfindel aside.

Glorfindel laughed joyfully and tweaked the wheel again, with the same reaction. Then he turned and called out over the water, “Take us home, Ossë!

“Quit tempting Ossë to dash us on the rocks!” answered Elladan, slapping Glorfindel’s hands away. When Glorfindel merely grinned and started turning the wheel again, he added, “You are making Celeborn sea-sick with your maneuvers.”

“I am not sea-sick!” protested Celeborn as he grasped the ship’s rail. “I am annoyed.”

Glorfindel laughed again, but he ceased from his fun. “Is it not good to know that this voyage does not require any great skill on our part? It gives me hope that Legolas and his dwarf also managed the trip.”

“Gimli,” muttered Celeborn.

“What is that you said?” asked Glorfindel.

“The dwarf’s name is Gimli. He is not ‘Legolas’s dwarf’,” he answered.

“Galadriel’s dwarf, perhaps,” mused Glorfindel, stepping lightly out of his reach.

Celeborn glared at the golden haired elf, but he felt his heart lift as each minute passed. Glorfindel was much lighter of heart and less burdened with weariness, and Elladan seemed far less restless. He let his mind drift to those they had left – he would miss them – but the pain of watching Arwen die had ended, to be replaced by a grief that would endure – the pain of missing her. But in time he knew that would become a duller ache.

“I will make breakfast,” announced Glorfindel. He kept out of Celeborn’s reach, but tweaked the wheel as he walked past Elladan.

Celeborn thought to give Elladan a rest from his watch, for it seemed unwise to give Glorfindel free rein to gleefully annoy Ulmo and make them all stumble with his many corrections, but Elladan waved him off. “Eat first, Daeradar. I am content here.”

He went into the ship’s cabin below. Glorfindel was making his usual mess in the galley. Through the door there was a sleeping area, still dim with night. The curtains were drawn about a lower bunk. The other berths were undisturbed, for he and Glorfindel had slept on deck.

He quietly pulled back the curtains, but Elrohir did not awake. His eyes were closed, and his face drawn and gray. Celeborn laid a hand upon his grandson’s head and probed gently at the surface of his mind. Elrohir’s light was dim and his soul wearied, yet even in sleep, his mind was guarded.

Celeborn pondered all that he observed, but understanding did not come.

* * *

“Perhaps you might try waking your brother,” said Celeborn as he took over the watch from Elladan.

They had been at sea for two days, and still Elrohir slept.

“It is better if he rests,” replied Elladan, but he did not meet Celeborn’s eyes. “I asked Glorfindel this morning to deepen his sleep, for at least a few more days.”

“Elladan, do you know what ails him?”

“Yes,” answered Elladan softly. But he did not explain.

When Glorfindel returned, Elladan gave the wheel to his grandfather and went below.

“Did you do as Elladan asked?” asked Celeborn.

Glorfindel sighed. “I did. I do not know why he asked, but I did not think there was any harm in doing so, when Elrohir was so clearly exhausted.”

Celeborn gripped the wheel tightly. He wished to wake Elrohir if for no other reason than to get answers! He gazed west. He wished to see Galadriel again, and his daughter. He was glad to be away from the land where he had buried his granddaughter. Yet he felt perhaps like this ship did – without anchor, at the whim of the seas and some controlling force that was as unpredictable as the storms that blew in unexpectedly.

It was many hours before Elladan returned, and when he did, he sat staring out to sea without speaking.

* * *

“Hello, Daeradar.”

Celeborn turned in joy. “Elrohir!” He walked to him and clasped his arm, using the moment to steady shaky feet and assess his grandson’s wellbeing. “I am glad to see you awake, at last!”

Elrohir held on to the upper bunk as the ship rode a wave. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“We are five days at sea,” replied Celeborn. He watched Elrohir closely for a reaction.

There was no reply, no reaction at all. Celeborn frowned. Whatever his grandson’s thoughts, they were masked to him. But, Elrohir’s color was better, and he did seem stronger. “Come, you can wash up in here while I prepare you some food.

When they went on deck, Glorfindel was at the wheel. That sight did bring a smile to Elrohir’s face. “Glorfindel! Elladan and Celeborn have trusted you with the helm? You do not know a thing about sailing!”

Glorfindel grinned and let go of the wheel. It did not move. He turned it slightly, and the wheel moved back into position. “These many years Círdan has led me to believe that sailing took some skill. It turns out that the sea does all the work.”

“I will not be surprised if we sail into the harbor at Avallónë and Ulmo throws the ship up on to the docks, just to be rid of us,” said Elladan.

“And dashes it to pieces in the process, ensuring we – or at least Glorfindel - never sails again,” added Celeborn.

Elrohir walked up to the ship’s rail. His eyes closed as he lifted his face to the sun and drank in the warmth. Celeborn looked from Elrohir to Elladan, and found Elladan watching his twin intently. Then Elrohir turned and their eyes met, and some unspoken conversation occurred. Celeborn did not enter into the conversation unbidden, yet there was some he could read: in Elladan’s eyes there was a request for forgiveness, and in Elrohir’s, there was an answer of love and patience. For the long sleep? wondered Celeborn. Or is there more to this mystery? Then Elladan walked to his twin and embraced him, and Celeborn could see him imparting some of his strength to his brother.

“Now it is my turn, even if no skill is required.” Elrohir relieved Glorfindel of his watch and stood at the wheel.

The days passed. Then, one day, Glorfindel called them all on to the deck. “There!” he cried. “The peak of Meneltarma!”

They followed his line of sight to a spot of darkness rising from the sea. It was nearly dusk, and the spot was barely discernable. Then it seemed that a grey curtain appeared suddenly before them and the ship shuddered as a mighty wave crashed across her bow. They crashed down into a chasm. Another wave swept across the ship, soaking them all. Celeborn loosened his grip on the wheel, and the ship turned hard under the force of the wave. He gripped it again, pulling them back on course, if their course was the curtain ahead of them. He felt Elladan at his side, bracing him as yet another wave crashed over them. This one flung Elrohir to the deck, and Glorfindel skidded backwards to him.

Fear was in his face. He grabbed Elrohir by the arm and they made their way to the shelter of the benches in front of the cabin. Leaving Elrohir there, he joined Celeborn at the helm.

“Surely Ossë has been with us, as all of your testing has proved!” cried Celeborn as a gust of wind threatened to steal his words. “Are we abandoned now? Is the Straight Way closed to us?”

Glorfindel’s face was pale and his eyes wide. “The Valar would not . . . ,” he began.

He stopped. Celeborn glanced quickly from the sea to Glorfindel. Elladan was between them, and his face full of fear. He let go of the wheel and walked forward to the bow, even as the waves washed over the deck. Celeborn feared he would be swept overboard as another wave broke over him, but when the water receded, Elladan was still there. He reached the bow and raised his hands. They could hear him crying out to the wind, but the words were not discernable.

A moment later, the seas quieted and all grew silent. Mist surrounded them, the air as grey as the sea. Rugged shores and jagged cliffs rose around them, and Celeborn felt the wheel tugged from his hands. He released it. The ship navigated unseen channels, passing so close to the rock faces that they could have reached out and touched them. Then suddenly the curtain was drawn back and the skies were clear and full of stars, and far in the distance an island arose before them.

“Tol Eressëa!” cried Glorfindel.

Celeborn sighed in relief. At the bow, Elladan had fallen to his knees. Behind him, Elrohir sat as if in shock.

Above them, they saw a ship flying. Eärendil! He blazed with a sudden brightness and dipped low over them, and looking up, they could see her captain’s face. Then Vingilot tilted in greeting, dimmed and resumed her journey.

“I had forgotten his face. So like him are you two, especially Elladan,” said Celeborn in wonder.

“I think we have been announced,” said Glorfindel.

Soaked and battered, they wrapped in blankets and spent the night on deck, watching as the Isle grew closer. Celeborn could feel Glorfindel’s excitement rising. Elladan got up several time to walk to the bow, his impatience growing. Elrohir, though, seemed impassive.

“What is wrong, elfling?” asked Glorfindel finally.

Elrohir flushed. Avoiding looking at any of them, he kept his eyes on the sea before them. “I am wondering if Naneth will be healed, and if she will have forgiven us. . . and we bring news of Arwen’s death. . .” his voice trailed off.

Celeborn studied him carefully. He sensed that this answer, while partially true, was incomplete. How he wished to break through this wall his grandson was building around himself!

“Your naneth is healed, she never blamed you and they are already well aware of Arwen’s death,” interrupted Glorfindel quietly. “Your adar and naneth await your arrival with as much anticipation as they did your birth, however, and therefore you will put aside these thoughts and think instead about the joy you will bring them.”

Elladan grinned. “Is that an order, captain?”

“Yes,” answered Glorfindel. “And so is this: go find us something for breakfast, if all isn’t soaked below decks.”

Celeborn watched his companions as he ate. Of all of them, only Glorfindel was completely at peace. He was going home, to scenery he would recognize and people he would know. “What are you looking forward to most, Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel considered the question with a thoughtful expression on his face. “When I left Middle-earth, neither King Turgon nor any of my House had been released from Mandos’s Halls. There are many old friends I hope to see, but I wish to see Elrond and Celebrían most of all.”

“And you, Daeradar?” queried Elladan. Celeborn contemplated his answer too long. “What then do you fear?”

“I fear nothing,” replied Celeborn tersely. “I merely wonder at what to expect.”

“The Ring of Doom is really not so bad,” began Glorfindel, but stopped when a large nut bounced off his head. He smiled as he cracked and ate the nut. “We will disembark at Avallónë on Tol Eressëa, which is peopled primarily with elves returned from Middle-earth. I really do not know much about the city, as I lived in the Gardens of Lorien in Valmar after returning from the Halls of Mandos. But there are forests and many elves of the Teleri and Sindar, and I expect you will be surprised at all those you will meet.”

“And you, Elladan? What do you most anticipate and what do you fear?” probed Glorfindel.

“Seeing Adar and Naneth, and all of those who have gone before us. Telling them about Arwen and Aragorn and their children and grandchildren, for they will treasure every memory we share. I fear not knowing what we will do or purpose we will serve.”

Glorfindel smiled as Elrohir nodded his agreement with Elladan’s choices. “Time is different in Aman than Middle-earth. It moves slowly, and there is time to learn and do and be all that you wish. You will not want for vocation.”

Anor was rising when they approached the harbor at Avallonë, where, despite the early hour, throngs of elves awaited their arrival.

“Naneth!” called Elladan joyously. “Elrohir, there, with Adar!”

Elrohir did not answer, but his hands gripped tighter on the wheel and his gaze wandered back and forth from the task at hand of docking their ship to the faces on the shore.

All sound faded as Celeborn laid eyes upon Galadriel. He had felt her in his mind not long after entering the Straight Road, and her presence had grown steadily. But seeing her took his breath away. And he knew suddenly that he was home, that being with her was greater than his love for any land.

When he finally turned from Galadriel, he saw his daughter. She was waving and trembling, and Elrond pulled her to his side to steady her. Elladan readied the gangplank, and as soon as the ship was near enough to the quay he flung it over and leapt to the ground. He wobbled only briefly from the long days at sea, and then he ran to his naneth. She met him half-way, flinging her arms about him as he lifted her off her feet and swung her around in him in abandon. He showered kisses on her and wept into her silver hair. Celebrían laughed and laughed, crying only tears of joy as she ran her hands over his face, as if reassuring herself that he was real.

Elrohir had followed more slowly, walking into his father’s outstretched hands and allowing those arms to surround and hold him. After a moment, Elrond turned Elrohir in front of him, keeping one arm wrapped around his son’s chest, until Elladan became aware of his twin waiting. He turned Celebrían in his arms, she cried out with joy, and then walked the two steps forward to pull Elrohir into her arms.

Celeborn watched all of this as he moved slowly forward off the ship, and was comforted. What his grandsons needed was to be here, to be home. Then Galadriel came to him, and he took her hands in his. You are at peace, he said.

I am, and I am filled with joy that you have come, she replied.

Then there was a blur before his eyes and the unquenchable spirit that was his beloved daughter was in his arms. He lifted her and swung her around as used to when she was young, so long ago.

“My Celebrían, you are my Celebrían again,” he finally said and he did not mind the tears that fell from his eyes.

Celebrían turned then, still holding his hand and she had reclaimed Elrohir with her other arm. “Where is Glorfindel?” she asked.

The crowd seemed to part, and they could see a reunion happening a short distance away. A dark haired, noble appearing elf was standing surrounded by a formally-dressed honor guard. Kneeling before him was Glorfindel, his golden head nearly touching the ground. As they watched, the kingly elf reached down to raise Glorfindel to his feet, and then took his face in both hands and kissed him on each cheek.

There was no need for anyone to identify the elf: there was only one that Glorfindel would bow to in such a manner, and that was Turgon, son of Fingolfin, son of Finwë. Celeborn looked at Elrond, who stood with Elladan, and saw sadness in his eyes. When he next looked at Glorfindel, he found him looking quickly at Elrond, then back to his king. Glorfindel’s gaze was longing, but then grew impassive.

Turgon had not missed the look, however, and he turned to Elrond, gesturing for him to approach. When Turgon stepped aside, Elrond embraced Glorfindel.

“Thank you,” said Elrond hoarsely.

Glorfindel pulled away first, looking over Elrond as a father would a son. “An age has fallen from you,” he murmured. He smiled at Celebrían then, and she ran to him. He lifted her off her feet, hugging her, and then set her down next to Elrond. Facing them, he studied them for a moment, then pronounced, “Like newlywed elves again. I am content.”

Turgon laughed then, clapping his hands, and his guard stood at attention. “Seeing you again, Glorfindel, has been a boon to my heart. I have waited long for this day. Now, though, it is time to go home.”

The smile faded from Glorfindel’s face, and from Elrond’s and Celebrían’s as well. Celeborn understood the sudden dilemma: for Glorfindel, home had been where Elrond was for the last two ages of the world. Yet, he had served that home in the service of his king. Whose house was he to belong to now?

Turgon laughed again. “Go with my great-grandson, Glorfindel. I have no need of a warrior and captain here, only a friend. But you are part of his family and shall remain so as long as you desire.” He looked over at the twins, then. “I see I have new great-great-grandsons to meet as well. They look stunningly like Eärendil.” He turned to Elrond. “I will send word of a visit after you have had time to reacquaint with your sons.”

With that, Turgon marched from the shoreline, his guard falling in around him, his banner held high before him. A nudge at Celeborn’s side caught his attention, and he felt his grandson’s warm breath on his ear. “He is not exactly what I had expected.”

Celeborn laughed aloud. “I expect that may turn out to be true of many things!”

The crowd around them had grown, with many relatives and friends gathering to glimpse the long awaited arrival of the rest of Elrond’s family. It was overwhelming, and he saw Elrohir actually take a step back. There were so many they wished to greet and embrace, but the crowd seemed to have no beginning or end.

“Everyone feels that way on arrival.” Elrond stepped in between his sons, slipping an arm around each of them. He smiled at the crowd, who waved and smiled in return. “No one expects anything of you; they merely wanted to see you. Come, let us go home. You will have as many visitors as you might want in the next few weeks, plus you have to meet all of our relatives and it appears we really are related to everyone. That alone will tie you up for a decade.”

As they turned to follow their mother and grandparents, Elladan began to laugh. “Oh, Adar, I have missed that sound.”

Elrohir began to laugh also, then Elrond. “They have over a century’s worth of time to argue and discuss and ensure that each is happy with the actions of the other,” said Elrond. The three of them looked over their shoulders to see Erestor and Glorfindel walking together, Erestor with his arm about Glorfindel’s shoulders and smiles on both of their faces, despite their bickering.

* * *

Elrond opened the door to the suite he had prepared for the twins, and ushered them in. They had been speechless upon entering the valley, and Elladan had said he had not thought the beauty of Imladris could be surpassed.

“You are welcome to change whatever you wish, or to move to any other part of the house, but I thought familiarity might be comforting to begin with,” explained Elrond. The suite was laid out in a similar plan to their rooms in Imladris, and very comfortably furnished.

Elrohir walked to the sofa set in front of the open balcony and flopped on it, lounging in the sunlight. “This is perfect, Adar.”

“We will leave you to rest, then, until dinnertime,” said Celebrían.

“Adar, Naneth, we have something for you,” said Elrohir tentatively. He had been holding a well wrapped package since disembarking, setting it down only to hug his mother, and while curious to know what Elrohir treasured enough to guard so carefully, they had waited patiently for him to tell them. “This might not be a good time, though . . .”

Celebrían’s eyes were alight with anticipation, and Elrond thought he could guess what the package held. “I would like to see what you have so treasured, Elrohir,” answered Celebrían. She sat down next to him, and he laid the large package in her lap. She carefully untied the string holding the waterproof wrapping tight and folded the paper back.

Elrond heard her sharp intake of breath, and though he remained silent, he was equally surprised and pleased. Elrohir looked worried, though, and tried to cover the item when tears began streaming down Celebrían’s face. She pushed his hand away and lifted the portrait carefully, studying it.

“There are others in our luggage, a large portrait of Aragorn and Arwen on their wedding day; one of them with their young children, and a more recent one, of them with their children and grandchildren. In here you will find many smaller paintings and sketches, as well as,” and Elladan paused, drawing in his breath, “letters from Arwen. She wrote faithfully to you, Naneth, and especially so after she married.”

Celebrían gathered the bundle of letters to her breast as she wept. “She loved you so much, Naneth, and this was her one regret, that she did not see you restored to health and say goodbye,” choked Elrohir.

“She was happy?” asked Celebrían through her tears.

“Very happy,” confirmed Elladan when Elrohir could only nod. “She loved Aragorn and she loved their people and she was a fine mother. If you had known Aragorn, Naneth, you would understand that she, like Lúthien, could give up all for him. He was worthy of her.”

“Then I will be content,” answered Celebrían. She hugged the letters again and pulled out a sketch of Arwen holding an infant in her arms. “This is a treasure. Thank you, my sons, thank you for bringing this with you.”

Elrond lifted the package from Celebrían’s lap, leaving her with the stack of letters that she was clearly eager to read. She rose, kissing each son gratefully, and they left their sons to rest. Returning to their own rooms, they told no one else about their treasure, but spent hours reading and looking through the sketches. Together they laughed and cried and remembered their daughter, and with the legacy she left them in word and pictures, they had something tangible to enhance their memories. Eventually all would be shared with their family, but they would first read each letter and gaze upon each sketch together.

“Elrond, I have never played matchmaker, but I think we need to start thinking about suitable wives for our sons,” said Celebrían after several hours.

Elrond glanced at her, noting the picture of Arwen she held, infant in her arms and surrounded by her other children. He laughed. “You want an infant to hold.” He had been aware of her longing for some time, but was waiting for her to speak of it.

“Yes, but I doubt that you will oblige me after all of this time, so I must encourage our sons to marry and father children,” she replied cheekily.

Elrond rolled off the cushion he had been lounging on and crawled to her, nipping at the bottom of her gown and then pulling her to the ground with him. “I would consider practicing,” he whispered into her ear, then traced the tip with his tongue.

She gasped, as he knew she would, and then said, “We have been practicing for a century. Are we not yet perfect?”

“I was not informed of your end desire,” he answered in defense, “and thus have not been working toward it.”

Celebrían looked at him wide eyed. “Elrond, are you serious? Would you consider it?”

Elrond lowered himself to the floor, propping himself on his elbow next to her. He thought of the joy Aragorn had brought to Imladris only a few centuries earlier, how much joy a child could add to a household. How much joy a child would bring to Celebrían. Were they not starting a new life together? They were not replacing Arwen, for that was not possible. A child in her own right, her own position in their home… was he willing? But, were they not past the years of the children, as the elves here called them? Well, the elves here did tend to find the elves who had come from Middle-earth a bit unconventional.

“A daughter,” he finally whispered. “A daughter with your eyes and hair.”

Celebrían squealed with joy as she pushed him on to his back and rolled on top of him. “A daughter!” she agreed, and it was his turn to gasp as her fingers danced upon his skin.

Amidst a floor strewn with the joyful memories of a daughter beyond their reach, a daughter was conceived.

TBC

Daw the minstrel gets a medal for beta reading this chapter. .

Chapter 3: Some who wander are lost

Elrond gritted his teeth and restrained the words on his tongue. Releasing his death grip on the chair arm, he rose and joined Elladan on the balcony. This effectively stopped his son’s pacing and caught his attention.

“I am sorry, Adar,” said Elladan immediately. He sighed. “I am sorry for having to apologize… again.”

“Elladan, what is on your mind? You pace the halls like a trapped animal.” When Elladan did not answer, Elrond held his arm out to the waterfalls and mountains. “You are no prisoner! Do you wish to explore? If I knew what you desired, I would help to arrange it for you!”

Elladan slumped against the balustrade and bowed his head. When he looked up, his thoughts were hidden. “Allow me to consider it, Adar.” His eyes strayed into the room where Celebrían and Elrohir sat together, looking again at the pictures and letters they had brought with them. “Perhaps taking a short journey would be helpful.”

“Away from Elrohir?” probed Elrond.

Elladan looked at him thoughtfully, as if this was an idea he had not considered. “I wonder, Adar….” His eyes brightened with a new gleam. “Perhaps….” His voice trailed off again. “May I be excused?”

Elrond nearly rolled his eyes at the formality of his son’s words. “Of course you may.” He choked back the rest of what he wished to say. He felt as if he were standing on the opposite bank of a river from his sons and the wind was carrying off their words, leaving only a semblance of conversation that neither side understood.

Returning to the sitting room, Elrond took his chair again. Celeborn, Galadriel and Celebrían all watched him expectantly, as if he might explain what had just been said, but Elrohir’s eyes remained fixed on the letter he was holding.

“I asked Elladan if he wished to take a journey. He expressed interest.”

At this, Elrohir did look up. There was a questioning look in his face, a spark of interest. “Did he say where he wished to go?”

“No,” answered Elrond.

Elrohir excused himself a few minutes later.

As soon as the door shut, Celebrían shoved aside the parchments and sighed. “I did not expect them to be like this.”

Celeborn looked grave. “This is new, whatever is wrong with or between them. I did not see any such signs until just a few months ago.”

Elrond forced his tongue to work. “Was it Arwen . . .?”

“Perhaps,” answered Celeborn. “Not her, but her . . . death. The last months of her life. Then the day we sailed, there was great turmoil in Elladan and between him and Elrohir.”

Elrond wished to speak more to Celeborn, but he felt Celebrían’s distress at this topic, and that of their daughter. He sat beside her, pulled her close, and calmed her and the child. Their daughter was drawing much energy from her mother, and he marveled that so tiny a person could need - and command – so much.

“Elladan is discontented and restless,” said Celebrían tiredly. “A journey may serve him well. Elwing and Eärendil would welcome him, and I think they would be good for him.”

“I think they would be also.” Elrond stroked her hair. He suspected that Elladan’s restlessness came from the choice he had made, one with which he was not entirely content. Eärendil would understand.

“And Elrohir?” asked Celeborn.

“I think Elladan should go alone,” murmured Celebrían. “Though I would gladly escort him. I love Elwing’s tower and the birds . . ..”

They all laughed, and Celebrían smiled. “I expect my energy to return, soon.” She yawned.

Elrond laughed and ignored her protests as he swept her up in his arms. “You need to sleep, beloved. I consider it my honor and duty to see you safely to your bed.”

With a nod to the others, Elrond took Celebrían to their rooms. He helped her undress and brushed her hair, and then tucked her in bed. She fell asleep almost instantly, and he kissed her. “I love you, my Celebrían.” She smiled in her dreams.

He walked past the suite of rooms their sons shared, and found their door open. They were speaking, and despite a momentary guilt at eavesdropping, he stopped and listened.

“What do you intend?” asked Elrohir.

“I think a journey is a good idea,” replied Elladan. “I need time to think.”

“For how long?”

“I do not know, Elrohir! Consider your options again, brother. There is more strength in you than you know. It will be better for you if I am gone.”

“Will it be better for you?”

There was a long pause. “Yes,” answered Elladan curtly.

Elrohir’s voice was so soft that Elrond could barely hear his reply. “Then go with my blessing. I hope you find the answers you seek.”

“You need to seek out what it is you want,” answered Elladan, a sharp edge to his voice.

Elrond could not hear what Elrohir said next, but Elladan’s voice was gentle when he replied. “Sleep, little brother.”

Elrond continued down the hall and a moment later heard Elladan behind him. “Adar, I wish to take your advice.” Elrond slowed and waited for his son to catch up with him.

“Your naneth suggested that you travel to visit Elwing’s tower. Eärendil and Elwing would welcome you.”

Elladan’s eyes brightened. “A wonderful idea! Yes, Adar. Why did I not think of that before?”

Elrond laughed, relief flowing through him. Seeing joy in his son lightened his own heart. He should have known that Elladan might be more like Eärendil, have restlessness that would have to be managed. And who better to teach his son than his sire?

Elrohir he could manage, he thought. What Elladan needed he could not provide. Elladan was more predictable, more easily read. They needed to channel his energy and unrest, and he would find his way. Elrohir, though, held his feelings close and if allowed to build up walls, he could be impossible to guide. Elrond would need to begin chipping away at those walls now, and that might be easier done if Elladan were away. Thus far, both of his sons had held them at a distance. In that they seemed united, despite a growing unrest between them.

Nonetheless, he would find a way to help them both.

* * *

The next evening, Elladan was much calmer. He had spent the day gathering information about the lands from Erestor and others in the house, and then joined the family. Elrond was relieved by the lack of pacing and pleased that purpose had brought about such a change.

“You say there is a road that winds along the shore, Naneth?” he asked as he pored over a map.

“Road may be too kind a word for it in places.” Celebrían laughed. “I was happy to sail up the coast after my experience going by land.”

Elladan’s eyes gleamed. “I prefer to sail. I understand now how sea-faring can get into the blood.”

“Passage can be arranged from the Teleri at Alqualondë,” began Galadriel.

“No, thank you, Daernaneth,” interrupted Elladan hastily. “I do not wish to be baggage on anyone’s ship. The Alphir lies in the harbor at Avallónë still. I will see to her outfitting and sail her up the coast.”

“I would like to sail with you and see these lands,” said Celeborn. “Would you have your grandfather back as shipmate?”

Elladan’s smile lit his whole face. “I would like that, Daeradar, though I do not know how long I will be gone for. You have not had much time to make acquaintance with the many relatives who wish to see you.”

“Nor have you. They can wait. And Elwing is my kin also.”

Elladan nodded, conceding the point.

Celeborn turned to Galadriel. “Is there a way that word can be sent to Ulmo, so he knows in advance that Glorfindel will not be with us?”

Elladan laughed, Celeborn joining him, until tears ran down their faces. “Do you think Ulmo would like to teach Glorfindel that there is some skill required in sailing, even in Aman?” choked out Elladan.

Galadriel smiled. “Glorfindel is fearless and full of joy, and his faith in the Valar runs deeper than most. He would gladly learn from Ulmo, but the sea is not his passion.”

“I do not know if we would survive their ‘lessons’,” answered Elladan. “Though I suppose Ulmo would need to explain to Namo if Glorfindel showed up in his Halls again because Ulmo was too tough a taskmaster! But Glorfindel is not here, so there is no question of his accompanying us anyway.” He paused and smiled. “I will long treasure the memory of seeing his face when he first saw his brother and mother. Erestor had to lend him an arm to keep him from swooning.”

“Especially so when he learned his brother had married and had children. He could hardly wait to meet them,” added Elrond. “Back to sailing – is two enough to sail your ship, Elladan?”

“Three would be better, but two can manage.”

“Your grandmother is a competent sea woman,” said Celebrían.

Elladan turned to Galadriel. “Would you join us, Daernaneth?”

“I have sailed the coast several times since returning. I will be your navigator,” she said, and laughed.

The house was in a merry uproar for several days, as plans were made and the ship outfitted and provisioned. When Elrond looked at Elladan, climbing in the rigging, strong and tanned, he was reminded sharply of a young Elros preparing to captain his first ship. He saw the same joy that had blossomed Elros from a child to an adult, filling him with a passion that never ceased.

The ship set sail at dawn’s first light. Many of Elrond’s house had come to see these three off, for the joy of Elladan’s first adventure in his new home had brought smiles to many. As Elrond waved to them, Celebrían at his side, he realized that Elrohir was nowhere in sight.

They returned home and Celebrían went to rest, as was her wont at this time of day. The day wore on and lunch and dinner passed, and still Elrohir did not appear. It was not until the sun had set that Elrond began to wonder if something might be amiss. He had told Celebrían that Elrohir was out and she had been satisfied, but he was not.

He found Erestor in the gardens. After greeting him, he asked, “Have you seen Elrohir today?”

“He left a note on my desk, indicating that he would be gone for a few days. Did he not tell you?” replied Erestor in surprise.

“He did not speak to me, but perhaps I overlooked a missive.” Elrond returned inside and went to his study, and there he found a folded note in his son’s handwriting. He read it and showed it to Erestor, who had followed him inside.

“Identical to mine,” said Erestor. “Why would Elrohir leave without speaking to you?”

Elrond was pondering that very question. “I do not know.”

* * *

Celeborn watched Elladan set the sail, climbing nimbly about the mast as if he were born on the sea. There was an air about him, of freedom, and the joy that came with it. Galadriel slipped her arm through his and he looked into her eyes, and she was as young again as she had been in Doriath when first they met. She too was free – free of the weight of Nenya and of power, free of the sea longing and the weariness that had burdened her. The wind in their hair and the call of the gulls above them somehow made this more clear to him than these first few months being reunited with her had.

“That is because your own weariness falls away and your sight grows keen,” said Galadriel, reading his thoughts. “An experience I have learned is common to all who come from the east.”

“Then I have hope for our grandsons.” Celeborn looked again at the ebony hair blowing around a sail, all of Elladan he could see. “His vision is perhaps clearing, and he sees that there is hope here for him.”

Galadriel looked thoughtful. “Yet his mind is still guarded and his most intimate thoughts he shares with no one.”

“He shared them with Elrohir, but that seems to be part of what he wished to be freed from.”

“I do not know if that is because Elrohir perceives thoughts Elladan wishes to keep hidden, or if Elladan feels burdened by what is in Elrohir’s mind.” Galadriel laughed softly. “Celebrían wonders how she and Elrond could so rashly have conceived a child now, when it turns out all is not well in their household.”

“And what did you tell her?” asked Celeborn, a grin tugging at his lips.

“I told her that rashly conceived children are full of joy and a blessing beyond measure, and she cannot yet see what effect this daughter will have on their household.”

Celeborn laughed. “I hope this child is a reflection of her mother. These lands could use more hastily conceived children and the impetuousness they bring.”

“I hope she is just like naneth,” added Elladan as he jumped to the deck.

“You have said little about this child,” said Galadriel. “I wondered if you found their decision a bit hasty.”

Elladan laughed. “I could conclude that their happiness at seeing us gave them a burning desire for another child just like us, or perhaps seeing our fair faces led to them think their memories faulty and they thought they might do better in these lands. But what I know is that they are happy and I am glad.”

They had rounded Tol Eressea and were heading north towards the havens at Alqualondë when Celeborn noted the many white ships sailing the seas in the harbor. They appeared to be very similar in style. Their own ship was made by the Men of Dol Amroth, and she was sleek and fast, and had a different look from these elven ships.

“On our voyage here, Daeradar, we really never tested this ship for speed,” said Elladan suddenly.

“It did not seem fitting then, somehow,” replied Celeborn.

“It does seem – remiss – of us now, however,” added Galadriel. “A captain and crew should know what their ship is capable of.”

That was enough for Elladan. Celeborn gave the wheel to Galadriel, for she knew the waters, and he joined Elladan in adjusting the sails. Their speed increased, and Galadriel drew near enough to shore to make the Teleri ships aware of them. One ship called a greeting to them, and Elladan responded by waving a white flag at them.

The challenge was accepted and the race began! Their ship had a head start, but their competitor was skilled and knew well the winds on the bay. Within minutes they had gathered the wind beneath their sails and launched towards the Alphir. Several other ships recognized the beginning of the impromptu race, and blew horns as they joined.

The second ship drew near, eager faces full of joy at meeting a new ship. Twice they pulled out into the lead, and Elladan used every trick learned from Imrahil’s sons to push the Alphir back out front.

“To the point!”

“To the point!” answered Galadriel and both crafts turned eastward away from the craggy shoreline to the northeastern point of the bay.

The two ships fought neck and neck, and which one won was impossible to tell as they flew past the point together. Then they maneuvered the crafts closer together to speak.

“An odd looking ship. Where does your Swan-Knight hail from?” called an elf.

“She hails from the finest havens of Men in Middle-earth,” replied Elladan, and he bowed.

The elves' eyes widened, for never had a ship of Men come to their shores. “How came Ulmo to allow such a thing?” they asked in wonder.

Elladan laughed. “Some day perhaps we will come and tell you the tale!” he called.

“Lord Celeborn!” another called. “Galadriel, granddaughter of Olwe!” said another.

Celeborn laughed as these elves looked upon them in awe. He found he enjoyed their wonder! Let them look! Those who had lingered long were no less than any other elf of the west!

“Farewell!” called Galadriel. She laughed and Celeborn felt the joy of that sound fill them. Such freedom! The elves stumbled over each other bowing to her, but his Galadriel had already turned her sights north.

~ ~ ~***~ ~ ~

When Elrohir had not returned after three days, Elrond began quietly seeking news of him. A growing unease had crept over him, along with a distant, discordant feeling as near to anger as he would admit. It was not that Elrohir had felt the need to be away, he told himself, but that he had not had the courtesy to tell them where he had gone.

It was eve of the fourth day when he returned. He entered the house quietly and after sending word to his father, he went to his rooms. Elrond had given him an hour to refresh himself, and then went to him.

He knocked softly on the door, but there was no answer. He entered anyway, and found the suite of rooms dark and silent. His son’s cloak was laid over a chair in the sitting room and a small pack was beside it. He entered through the open door to the bedchamber.

Elrohir was sleeping upon the still-made bed. He had dragged a light blanket over himself, but appeared to be still in the clothing he had traveled in. His eyes were closed over hollowed cheeks, and there was a new translucence about him. This Elrond had seen before.

For the first time since arriving in the Blessed Realm, he felt fear. Celebrían had come here broken and nearly spent, and been healed. He had arrived weary and shorn of a great power, and been refreshed and restored. Why had Elrohir not found similar aid?

“Elrohir,” he said softly.

Elrohir stirred slightly. Elrond sat on the edge of the bed and rested one hand upon his son’s head, the other over his heart. “Elrohir,” he prodded again.

Elrohir opened his eyes. He masked them almost immediately, but not before Elrond saw the deep sorrow and weariness therein. “I am glad you are home. Where did you go?” He kept his tone gentle, his touch soothing.

“I walked,” replied Elrohir softly. “I know not where.”

“What were you seeking?”

Elrohir lowered his eyes. Elrond moved his hand to Elrohir’s cheek and his son leaned into it instinctively, seeking comfort, and their eyes met. Elrohir wished to speak with him, pour out his heart, and find healing. Elrond could read that much in the surface of his thought. Yet something greater held his son back.

“Peace, I think.” Elrohir’s words were so soft that Elrond barely heard them.

“Did you find it?”

Elrohir did not answer. Elrond brushed his son’s mind. Will you let me in, Elrohir?

He felt Elrohir’s will dissolving. He wanted Elrond’s help, needed his help. There was a desperation and longing emanating from him. But then he closed his eyes and turned his head aside.

Elrond bowed his head. Never had Elrohir refused his aid. He felt numb, and his imagination crowded his mind with all it could conceive of what might have come between him and his son. The son most like him, the son he had always felt the closest to in spirit.

Did his son regret his choice? The thought came into his mind and he almost rejected it out of hand as a final work of the enemy. Had he wished to follow Arwen and Aragorn, and not done so? No, Celeborn and Glorfindel had not thought so. It was Elladan they thought conflicted and uncertain, torn between desires.

Could Elrohir regret actions toward his brother? Had Elladan chosen to stay with Elrohir, and there was now guilt and a rift between them? This seemed possible to him. Yet why then with Elladan gone was Elrohir in more distress?

“Elrohir, I beg you to let me help,” he pleaded.

Tears streamed from Elrohir’s eyes, and Elrond pulled him into his arms. While he would not accept his help, Elrohir did accept his comfort. Elrond poured fourth strength and healing in measures he did not remember possessing, until his son was calm and much stronger than he had been. Then he pushed him into a rest beyond sleep.

He undressed his son, sorrow again filling him as he looked upon the thin form, and then clothed him in clean nightclothes and put him to bed. Memory came upon him of the many times he had performed these deeds, tending elves and men injured and ill, some passing unto death and some finding healing in his care. Never had he thought to do this in the undying lands.

He did not go to Celebrían right away, for he would not burden her with his thoughts yet. She would soon pass into the stage of pregnancy where her energy abounded, and both of them would be glad for it. She needed all of her strength for their daughter now. Instead, he went seeking Erestor.

“My apologies for intruding at this late hour, Erestor. In the morning, would you send word to Olórin that I have need of him?”

Erestor nodded and did not wait for morning, and Elrond knew his heart was easily read. He could not leave and seek answers in far off Valmar, either. He hoped that for long friendship’s sake, Olórin would come to him.

* * *

Morning came and the sun was well in the sky when Elrond was interrupted from his thoughts by a knock on the door. He bade the visitor to enter, and nearly started in surprise. “Olórin!” he cried, and he stood to greet the Maia.

“Elrond, I came as soon as I received your summons,” replied Olórin as he accepted the chair and the drink that was offered.

“That could only be if you read hearts from afar, my friend,” said Elrond. “The message was sent only last evening.”

“An advantage of having my proper form back: I am not bound to this body, and come and go with much greater ease. But I read your heart now, old friend. What is amiss?”

And to Olórin Elrond poured out his concerns. “A master healer I was once, in Arda marred, but this malady that afflicts Elrohir I do not understand. We sent broken and fading elves west to find healing. When elves here remain sick in spirit, where do we turn?”

Olórin listened and was long in answering. “May I see him?” he asked.

“He sleeps still. I have asked to be called when he awakens.” But Elrond led the Maia to his son.

“Leave me with him. I will return to you in a short while.”

Elrond did as he was bid, though it sat poorly with him. Yet in these lands he was aware of the great power that was Olórin, friend still, yet much greater and mightier than they had known him in the past. He returned to his office and brooded until Olórin rejoined him.

“I suggest that you take him further west, Elrond. To Lórien,” said Olórin.

“Do you know what ails him, Olórin?”

The Maia was again slow to answer. “Yes, I think I do. But it is not for me to tell, nor is it an ill I can cure. But in those fair gardens, he may find respite, for a time at least.”

Elrond pondered the words he had just heard. Before he could organize his thoughts, Olórin continued.

“I will travel with you. I will make all the arrangements.”

“I should speak to Elrohir first,” protested Elrond. “I do not know if he will wish to go anywhere so soon after returning.”

“He will go.” Knowing eyes met Elrond’s. “It was this that he was seeking, though he knows it not. And he wishes to please you. If you ask him to come with you, he will.”

“If he wished to please me, why not let me help him?” asked Elrond, frustration in his voice.

“Patience, Elrond. He returned here to you in his need, did he not? All things in their appointed time. Now, where is Celebrían? She will need to come, of course, and I expect she will need time to prepare.”

Olórin did not wait for him, but rose and left the room, knowing well where Celebrían was likely to be found. Elrond sighed and followed. He stopped an elf in the hall and asked that rooms be prepared for their guest, and when he caught up to the Maia, he found him already in conversation with Celebrían.

Olórin knelt by Celebrían’s chair, one hand on her swelling belly, and he was laughing. “Ah, this child already reminds me of you. She will keep you on your toes! Your parents will find that appropriate, I think, judging by the many stories I have heard of your youth.” Then he took her hand and told her of the plan to journey to Lórien.

“Call your maidens to help you prepare, for you may wish to stay longer than this little one plans to stay in your womb. Then rest well, for we depart on the morrow.”

If Celebrían was surprised or distressed by the news, she did not show it. She looked gravely upon Olórin and then kissed his cheek. “There is healing in those gardens,” she said, remembrance of her sojourn there still fresh.

Olórin did not answer.

* * *

When word came that his son was awake, Elrond went to Elrohir’s room with a tray of food. He set it on a table in the sitting area as Elrohir entered from the bathing chamber. Their eyes met and Elrond read love and joy in his son’s eyes. He felt his heart lighten, for this was the son he knew.

“I could have dressed for dinner, Adar.” Elrohir embraced him before he sat down, hair still damp, and Elrond felt again how thin he had become through the loose robes.

“Your naneth is busy preparing for a trip, so I thought you might like to eat more comfortably here, without formality,” replied Elrond.

“A trip where?” Elrohir drank a sip of wine, but only picked at the food.

“To Lórien. Olórin stopped by for a visit, and he will be traveling with us. You will come, of course?”

“Lórien,” murmured Elrohir thoughtfully. He smiled. “Yes, I will come to Lórien, Adar.”

Elrond brushed away the thought that he was manipulating his son. Manipulating him needlessly, he scolded himself. He would have come if you had simply said you wished to take him there. It bothered him a little that Elrohir had not asked for what reason they were going to Lórien, that his innate curiosity was that dimmed. But there had been no persuasion or argument needed, and he was glad, for this was a strain he did not wish to put between them.

They left the next morning, and Celebrían and Olórin made it a cheerful party. The journey to the havens at Avallónë was a short one, and a ship was waiting to bear them to the main land of Aman. As more people had moved from Tol Eressëa to the mainland, a haven had been built where the Calacirya split the mountains to the sea. There they stayed for a night before resuming their journey.

Their journey by land was slow and easy. Olórin rode often with Elrohir, telling him tales and histories of the lands and those who lived there. Elrond watched them closely. He thought Elrohir seemed stronger and more vibrant, especially when in the company of the Maia.

* * *

“Elrond!”

Elrond turned at the sound of the well-known and much loved voice that he heard calling down from the hills. A moment later horses appeared, their leader a magnificent white beast with jingling bells. Joy welled up within him, and Elrond called, “Hail, Glorfindel!”

Glorfindel raced down a field of golden sheaves. He shone like the sun, bright and warm, and laughter flowed from him. He dismounted and caught Elrond in a hug in what seemed to be one fluid move.

“I heard tale that you were in these lands and traveling west!”

Glorfindel hardly paused for breath, for he caught sight of Celebrían and sprang to her side. “My lady!” She held his hand to her belly and a smile lit his face as he greeted their unborn daughter. Then he lifted Celebrían from her horse and set her on the ground.

By then Glorfindel’s companions had joined them. The male was as like to Glorfindel in form as any elf could be, and the female a younger reflection of what had to be her father.

“My brother Alcánion, and his daughter, Lindórië. This is Elrond Peredhel and his wife, Celebrían, daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel.”

The greetings turned merrier yet when Olórin came forward to greet Glorfindel, and Celebrían said, “Will you stop and take refreshment with us?” Celebrían held out her hand to Lindórië who took it immediately, and the two females left the males to make arrangements while they washed their faces and brushed the dust from their clothing.

Elrond was seated next to Glorfindel when Olórin and Elrohir joined them a few minutes later. Glorfindel’s face grew grave as he looked more closely upon Elrond’s son, and he motioned for Elrohir to come sit beside him. “This land has not agreed with you as much as I had hoped, elfling,” he said honestly.

Elrohir managed a smile, but did not answer.

“Where is Elladan? Does he not journey with you?”

“He has sailed up the coast to visit Elwing and Eärendil, and with him are Celeborn and Galadriel,” answered Elrond. “We journey to Lórien.”

Their destination seemed to satisfy the golden elf, and he did not question them further. Celebrían and Lindórië appeared, and Glorfindel held out his hand to his niece. “Lindórië, meet Elrohir, of whom I have spoken much.”

The words were spoken with paternal pride, as if Glorfindel were introducing his own son to his niece. And indeed, that is how he had long thought of Elrond’s sons.

Elrohir stood and bowed before the maiden, and took her hand in his and kissed it. But neither managed to murmur more than a polite word. Their eyes had met and their faces flushed, and still Elrohir held Lindórië’s hand.

Elrond smiled and Glorfindel laughed, but Alcánion shook his head wrly. “Not an ellon at home has she looked at twice, but the first one you bring her to, Glorfindel, has her tongue-tied.”

“I do not recall ever having seen Elrohir in this state before,” replied Glorfindel. Then he laughed again. “I will break them apart before they turn to stone. They do not even hear us speaking about them!”

He rose and parted their hands, and then put cups of drink in them instead. He led them a short distance away. “Sit here, you two, and speak, if you can find where your tongues have gone.”

They both smiled at Glorfindel, but quickly forgot him as they sat together and apparently did, thought Elrond, find their tongues for they seemed to find much to say.

Celebrían sat between Elrond and Glorfindel. “That may be good medicine,” she said, a smile creeping across her face as she watched the two young elves.

Glorfindel looked from them to Olórin. “I can nearly see through him. What has led to this?”

“I do not know,” replied Elrond quietly.

Glorfindel turned his gaze to Olórin.

“It is not for me to say, my friend. But I dare say that Lórien will be good for him, and he will find comfort there,” said Olórin.

“I notice you do not say that he will find healing there,” said Glorfindel.

“That is not up to me,” replied Olórin.

The sun had traveled several more hours on her day’s journey when Olórin finally rose. “We must continue if we intend to reach the traveler’s house by nightfall.”

Elrohir and Lindórië spoke a few more moments, then Elrohir again kissed her hand and spoke his farewells. He walked her to her horse, but her father helped her to mount. Then Glorfindel held him close for a moment. “Be well, Elrohir.”

To Elrond’s surprise, tears glistened in his son’s eyes. Elrohir did not answer, but Glorfindel spoke softly to him until he was comforted. Then they parted and each resumed their journey.

* * *

TBC

Chapter 4: Conflicting Natures

Elladan pointed to where the sunlight glimmered off white rock in the distance. “There!” he cried.

Celeborn joined him at the bow of the ship, shielding the sun from his eyes as the glimmer of light slowly took the form a white tower. The gulls flew about their ship, crying, seemingly excited about their arrival. Then suddenly they left, flying toward the white tower. They circled around its pinnacle and were returning when Celeborn noted the lead bird was different from those who flew on either side and behind. Its wings were white and silvery grey, and it was larger than the gulls. It flew over them and then circled back, and the gulls followed. They cried with delight and followed where it led, out to sea and then back to the coastline.

They were nearing the small haven on the rocky coastline where they might set anchor when the bird landed on the quay. The bird spread its wings wide, but when it lowered them, the shape was that of a slender woman.

“Elwing,” said Galadriel breathlessly.

Elladan was speechless. Elwing stepped back as they eased the Alphir to the quay. Elladan leapt on to the planks and secured their craft, but his eyes were on this grandmother he had not yet met rather than on their ship.

The three walked forward to meet her. She inclined her head in greeting and said, “Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, welcome.” But she stepped forward to Elladan and there was wonder in her eyes. “You bear even greater resemblance to Eärendil than your father, Elladan Elrondion. Welcome, grandson.”

Then formality fell from them, for Celeborn and Galadriel had known Elwing in her youth and life in Sirion. They embraced her and wept, and Celeborn felt the weight of two ages of the world fall from them.

“Never did I think to see you again, Elwing, after that day at the havens of Sirion. This day brings me great joy,” said Celeborn. “And we share something greater now, kinswoman: grandsons.”

And Elwing laughed, and there was joy in her now that Celeborn had never seen in her youth. “I am glad you have come. Our plans had been to visit Elrond’s house again to meet you, but we foresaw that you might come to us first. Come, and bring what you need now, for the climb is long and you may not wish to do it more than once today.”

She led them up stairs cut in stone, twisting and turning among the boulders and sheer rock of the cliff. The stairs were not crude, but had been made with great care and skill.

“Look at the gulls!” Elladan pointed not to the sky, but to a rock pillar that marked the turn of the stairs. There was carved a gull, leaping into flight, with only one foot on the stone.

“That is the half-way point,” replied Elwing. She stopped and pointed toward the top of the cliff. “There, do you see the white swans? They mark the entrance to this stair.”

Far above them were two great swans with their wings outstretched. They were looking upon their backs, and even from a distance the delicate carving of the feathers could be seen.

“Finarfin had them made,” said Elwing. “He also sent craftsmen of the Noldor to carve the steps.” She continued the climb. “There was no entrance from the sea until after Valinor was hidden. When rumors reached Aman that Númenor was planning an attack upon the Valar, word was sent to me to keep watch and prepare for flight. The tumult was great, and when Númenor sank the wave washed over this cliff and even into the tower itself. This wall was sheer, but it broke apart and crumbled, and the waves brought the glittering sands to the newly formed beach. At high tide much of the beach is hidden, but when the waters withdraw, many a treasure may be found.”

They had listened in wonder to Elwing’s tale, and soon passed between the great swan guardians to a field of wildflowers. A path led them to a terraced garden, where seats had been cut into the rock to look out over the sea. They were shaded by flowering trees, whose boughs formed a canopy to the entrance of the tower.

“I see why Naneth loved it here,” said Elladan simply.

Elwing turned to him and smiled. “Celebrían spent many years here with me, and a better companion I could not have wished for. She was quiet in those early years, and this was a place of respite and healing for her.”

“Elrohir would love it here,” added Elladan softly.

Celeborn turned at those words, for he heard more in them than what was said. There was a wistfulness, a realization perhaps that he wished his brother were here with him.

“Then I hope you will bring him with you one day,” replied Elwing.

Elladan fell silent and it seemed as if a cloud gathered around him. Elwing took his hand and led him inside.

* * *

They ate together, and then Elwing led them up a winding staircase to the lookout at the tower’s pinnacle. It was open all the way around the turret, and they could look out across the land and the seas.

“There is the isle of Tol Eressëa, and the tower of Avallónë is lit in the havens,” said Elwing, directing their gaze south. “Look east. Do you see the long chain of islands? There in the middle is the Tower of Pearl. It is said by those who take the Straight Road that they see it only in grey mists. From here you may see it more clearly. It is a great tower, and there is a watcher there who turns back those who come to these lands unbidden.”

“We saw only grey,” replied Elladan.

“Our ship was battered in the passing. We feared the Straight Way had been closed to us,” said Celeborn. “We could not at first pierce the veil.”

Galadriel and Elwing both looked at him in surprise, and Celeborn realized he had not spoken of it since their arrival. The joy of reunion had driven the thought from his mind.

“Our road also was perilous,” admitted Elwing. “But we expected as much. If elves, we were under the ban and doom of Mandos. If men, our lives were forfeit for setting foot on these shores. But we bore the Silmaril and had the goodwill of Ulmo.” She looked keenly at her grandson. “But I have not heard of others ships with such difficulties.”

“I had set it out of my mind once we reached the haven,” admitted Celeborn. He looked at Elladan, who seemed strangely quiet.

“Elwing, will you fly again? Do you meet Vingilot in the morning?” asked Elladan.

Elwing accepted the change of subject. “Eärendil knows of your arrival and will join us tomorrow.” She smiled at him. “I may fly out to greet him. Would you like that?”

“The only thing I would like more is to fly with you,” said Elladan. “I was amazed to see you today. It must feel so free to ride on the wind.” When Elwing took his hand and turned them both to look out over the sea, he spoke again. “I rode on the back of a great eagle once.”

Celeborn could hear the joy tinged with sorrow in his voice, for this story he knew too well. Yet Elwing caressed her grandson’s hand and he finally continued.

“After our mother was rescued from the orc den, we were racing home, to get her to our father, in hopes she might live. Our father had sent the great eagles to seek for us. The one that found us had been an eaglet I had once rescued on a foolhardy climb to their eyries. He bore us to Imladris.” Elladan sighed at the memory. “I had dreamed of flying since first I heard the tale of Elros leaping with a sail from the cliff on Balar. This was a dream come true, only at the worst moment of our lives.”

Elwing slipped her arm through her grandson’s and leaned against his shoulder. “I wish I could carry you with me, but I am not strong enough. But I will fly to Eärendil in the morning.”

Elwing awakened them before dawn, and they went to the cliff’s edge with her. In the distance they could see the Vingilot returning from its nightly journey. Then she turned to Elladan and held out her hand to him. He took it, and she drew him to stand next to her, an arm’s length apart.

“Will you trust me?”

Elladan blinked, looking from Elwing to the sea and then back to Elwing again. She held his gaze and said again, “Will you trust me?”

“Yes.”

There was silence for a moment and then Elwing leapt from the cliff and pulled Elladan with her.

Celeborn gasped and felt Galadriel’s shock, and they raced the few steps forward to the edge. Not one bird, but two, flew up from the foam below. Elwing was silvery white and as graceful as the wind. Elladan was darker gray in color, and he wobbled in flight, then with a great flap of his wings he rose above Elwing and soared through the skies.

They dipped and rose, circling back once, and then as the sun rose in the eastern sky, their feathers glowed red and they raced to the Vingilot. Eärendil flashed the Silmaril bright on them, and they passed him to the south, then circled around and reappeared at his side, keeping speed with him. Then, while still over the sea, both landed on the ship and disappeared from Celeborn’s view.

Celeborn sat down on one of the stone chairs, nearly missing the seat. Galadriel looked at him, but they were both speechless. The sun rose in the sky and still they sat, and then suddenly from around the tower came three walking toward them arm in arm.

Elladan was between Eärendil and Elwing. Their raven hair mingled and so alike was Elladan to his grandsire that under other circumstance it might have been difficult to tell them apart. But Eärendil shone with a light that none could miss.

In Elladan’s face there was a joy and in his eyes a light that Celeborn had never seen before. As soon as he saw them, he called, “I flew!” They embraced him when he flung his arms around them in carefree abandon. “I flew! I will never be the same again, Daeradar. I flew!”

Celeborn hugged his grandson and he laughed at the joy. Then he greeted Eärendil, whom he had not seen since the young man departed Sirion on his last voyage seeking Tuor and Idril.

They breakfasted together, as Elladan related his tale. Eärendil and Elwing were mostly silent, watching this grandson with pride and something else Celeborn could not quite identify.

“I do not understand,” said Galadriel, when he had finished. “I have always heard it told that when you first flew as a bird, Elwing, it was Ulmo who bore you up on wings. And that once here, you learned from the birds to fly as they do. A special grace of the Valar. How did Elladan fly?”

Elwing and Eärendil exchanged glances, and were long in answering. Elladan seemed nonplussed by the question, and Celeborn was unsure if his grandson already knew the answer… or did not wish to know.

“A special grace of the Valar,” said Eärendil finally. He smiled at his grandson. “Tonight he will fly with me, beyond the circles of the world and into the pathless voids.”

Then Elwing spoke. “On such journeys I go not, but Elladan must prepare, for it is cold and the voids dark.” Then Eärendil and Elwing excused themselves and took Elladan with them.

Celeborn and Galadriel walked out further on the terrace. In the distance they could see Taniquetil, the highest peak in Valinor and the home of Manwë and Varda. They did not speak for many hours. When evening came, Eärendil and Elladan left them. A short time later, Vingilot appeared in the sky, and the thought occurred to Celeborn that he did not know how Eärendil passed from Aman to the ship, which did not rest in Valinor.

For a week Elladan stayed with Eärendil, and they saw him only when he passed over head. Then one morning, Elwing flew out to meet them. This time she returned in bird form, and Elladan was with her.

Celeborn watched them land and before his eyes return to their normal form. The two stood together for a moment, adjusting to their bodies, and Elwing spoke to Elladan softly. “This is the last time that you may fly in such form, by the grace of the Valar. The choice is before you. If you wish to learn flight, then you must learn in the form we have been given.”

“Thank you, Elwing. This gift, whether you arranged it or brought it to fruition, has given me more joy than you know.”

“It does not wholly assuage time or prevent weariness, but it does help to find contentment,” she answered.

Then Elladan and Elwing joined them, and more like Eärendil did Elladan look than ever before. He too glittered in stardust and his face was radiant, and there was wonder in his eyes that touched his soul.

“I do not know if I can find words to express all that I have seen,” he said as he sat down with them. “My mind is overwhelmed and yet Eärendil says I have seen little of all there is to see. There are stars and worlds, and oceans of heaven that are endless!” He paused, breathless. “And the wonder of it all is the Imperishable Flame, the spark of all that is. It was far off, and yet I yearned to come close to it!”

Elwing stood at his side, her hand resting on his shoulder, and in her eyes was a strange glimmer. “Ever does Eärendil seek to voyage close to that flame, yet it remains beyond his reach, for he is bound to this world.”

Elladan’s gaze grew distant. “Yet Men leave the bounds of this world and find something of great hope and joy beyond these circles. Do they reach the flame? Can they touch it? Can they bask in that glow that a mortal body could not endure?”

Galadriel reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly. He did not look at her, but through touch of body and mind she said, I think I know what ails Elrohir.

And Celeborn suddenly knew too.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Olórin led them to the green gates of the Gardens of Lórien, where Irmo himself greeted them.

“Welcome, Olórin,” he said as the Maia bowed before him. “Lead our guests inside. A house has been prepared for them.”

They were led to a simple cottage. There were other such cottages, each built among the trees in a way that made them nearly invisible unless one knew where to look for them. There was little transition between indoors and outdoors, as each room opened to the gardens, the cut stone floors giving way to natural stone paths and grassy avenues.

Elrond felt an immediate change come over Celebrían. She sank down on a chair carved out of a fallen tree, closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and sighed. “I love this place. It has all that one could need, except the sea. I had no great love of the sea in Middle-earth, but here I am drawn to it as never before.”

They refreshed themselves, eating and drinking and bathing, and nightfall came. Elrond wandered the small house, paternal instincts roused to check on Elrohir before he slept. His son’s chamber was empty and silent. He wandered from the house along the path, though he knew not where it went.

He came eventually to a lake, the sound of the water lapping gently at the shore announcing its presence before his eyes saw it. There he found Elrohir, seated upon a smooth rock near the shore, where no trees blocked his view of the sky. He was gazing at the stars and unaware of anything around him.

Then Eärendil appeared in the sky, leaving for his nightly journey. Elrohir suddenly stood, straining to see something on the Vingilot. Elrond followed his gaze.

Someone stood beside Eärendil on the ship. In his heart, Elrond knew immediately it was Elladan.

Elrohir watched until the ship was lost to his sight, then he sank slowly back on to the rock. Elrond heard him sigh, a low keening sound, and then he rocked gently back and forth, burying his face in his hands.

Before he could take even a step to go to Elrohir, he felt a gentle hand on his arm. He started, for he had not head anyone approach. It was Irmo. Elrond immediately bowed.

“Go to Celebrían and rest,” said Irmo.

Elrond looked from the Vala to his son, torn. But Irmo took his arm, guided him away from the lake and walked with him along the path. He did not speak for several minutes.

“Speak without fear,” said Irmo.

“I do not wish to leave him alone in his despair,” replied Elrond finally.

“To assuage your own sense of what is right, or because you believe you can aid him?”

The words were spoken without accusation, yet Elrond was taken back. He forced himself not to react to the words, but to consider them.

“How can I separate them?” he finally asked. “I love my son and would do whatever I could to ease him. Why would this not also be right?”

Irmo looked at him long before answering. A thought came into Elrond’s mind, followed by another, then a third. One involved Elrohir, the other two did not.

“What have they in common?” asked Irmo.

“The person needed to feel the pain, to understand their actions, so they could change, forgive, and move on,” replied Elrond. He stopped walking and faced the Vala. “Elrohir’s pain is due to something he has done, a choice he had made, and he must resolve the issue to move on?”

Irmo did not answer. They continued walking. “In all of the three memories you recalled to my mind,” said Elrond, “I could see that truth. I helped guide them to that truth. But only they could choose to see and understand.”

“You were usually a willing and apt tool,” replied Irmo.

Elrond looked at him sharply. He was not looking for validation of his own actions and was a little disconcerted to know that Irmo, master of dreams and visions, knew so much. “Why can I not help Elrohir now?”

“Elrohir is unwilling to accept your help.”

Elrond sighed. “So he must suffer until he chooses to see and understand the truth?

“That he suffers is an unfortunate consequence, but he knew it might be so and still chose this course.”

Elrond rubbed his forehead. “So this is his life? There is no hope for him?” When Irmo did not immediately answer, he continued, “Then cannot I at least comfort him? Strengthen him? He has accepted that.”

They were back at the cottage. Irmo followed him inside and entered the chamber where Celebrían was sleeping. He motioned for Elrond to prepare for rest, while he sat on the edge of the bed next to Celebrían. She did not wake.

He smoothed her hair and rested his hand on the now large swell of her belly. A smile was on his face. “She is dreaming of you and of this daughter in her womb. When first she came to us, I filled her dreams with memories of you and her children. When her nights were no longer tormented by orcs, her days became times of healing.”

Elrond sat down beside Celebrían, opposite the Vala. “Thank you,” he said, and he found he was more grateful than he could express. He recalled how awful the dreams of her torment had been, and how he could never chase them away.

Irmo smiled at him. “Even now, Estë is with your son. She will comfort him. But know this, Elrond Peredhel, you must learn patience. What ails your beloved son cannot be cured by any of us, but we can help him. A time will come when he will need you and Celebrían more than any of us here. Take care not to push him before he is ready.”

Irmo stood, walked around the bed, and laid his hand on Elrond’s head. Elrond felt himself instantly on the Path of Dreams, and there was Celebrían waiting for him.

* * *

The next morning Elrond woke more refreshed than he could remember ever feeling. Celebrían still lay beside him, though propped up on pillows watching him. She smiled as his gaze focused on her. “Awakening here is not like any other place. And each day seems better than the last.”

He laughed as she rolled off the bed. “I think our daughter grew overnight.”

Celebrían patted her belly. “I have asked her several times to confirm no one else is hiding in there with her.”

They stopped at Elrohir’s chamber and found him soundly sleeping. Remembering Irmo’s words of the night before, Elrond did not enter. Celebrían did, kissing Elrohir’s brow and smoothing the blanket before leaving him in sleep. Elrond looked at her in question.

“There is peace about him, but he is weaker,” she reported, and a frown creased her forehead. “Perhaps that peace cost him strength.”

Elrohir slept all that day, but again sat with Estë that night. This continued for several nights. They had been in Lórien for nearly a week when a night came when Elrohir did not go to the lake. He sat with them for evening meal. To Elrond’s eyes, there was a greater peace about his son. There was also acceptance, as if he were content with his state of being. He was also nearly translucent, which gave him an ethereal beauty that was stunning and yet haunting.

He asked Elrohir to walk with him, and they strolled about the gardens.

“Are you glad you came here?” asked Elrond.

“Yes, Adar, I am. Thank you for bringing me here,” replied Elrohir, and when their eyes met, Elrond could see contentment in them.

“I see peace about you, as light and comfortable as a summer mist. But your spirit shines through your body as if it is drifting into that mist and becoming part of it.” When Elrohir did not respond, he said, “Are you ready for healing?

Elrohir slipped his arm through Elrond’s as they continued their slow walk. “Not yet, Adar,” he answered gently.

Elrond remembered Irmo’s warning. Something made him look up and he saw a figure in the woods. He was sure it was the Vala.

“Is there naught I can do for you?” he finally asked.

“Stay here with me, Adar. Your presence is a comfort and source of strength to me,” replied Elrohir.

“As long as you need us, we will be here,” promised Elrond.

* * *

It would have been easy to lose track of time in that fair garden, thought Elrond, if not for Celebrían’s pregnancy. Their daughter’s begetting day was only a week away, and he found all present in Irmo’s garden full of joy and anticipation at the prospect of her birth.

Baby garments had been appearing for several weeks, and one day a beautifully carved cradle appeared in their chamber next to their bed. Most of the gifts held no clue as to the giver, and unless they happened upon the individual bringing the item they never did learn.

Elrond had asked that word be sent to Elwing letting her know that they were in Lórien, though he suspected she already knew. He did not know if Elladan, Celeborn and Galadriel had returned from their visit, but they would learn of Celebrían’s whereabouts at home or from Elwing.

He was not surprised when a messenger came to their cottage and informed him of a visitor. As he went to the gates to greet the guest, he found Glorfindel and Lindórië waiting for him.

“I would not miss the arrival of your daughter, Elrond,” said Glorfindel, his face shining. He looked over Elrond’s shoulder and grinned more, if that were possible. “Celebrían!”

Elrond turned and saw Celebrían strolling with Elrohir along her favorite path. She glowed, radiant, as she saw them and Glorfindel went quickly to her and kissed her hand and then both cheeks. “Just when I think you cannot become more beautiful, you do.”

Glorfindel turned to Lindórië but she was not looking at him or Celebrían. Her eyes were on Elrohir. And Elrohir’s eyes were on her. Glorfindel looked from his niece to Elrohir, and the smile faded from his face.

“Welcome, Lindórië,” said Elrohir.

“Greetings, Elrohir,” she answered.

Her smile was sweet and Elrohir seemed to melt a little. Elrohir reached for the bundle she was carrying, but Elrond managed to speak first. “Let me carry that for you, Lindórië.”

The elleth suddenly stopped and turned to Celebrían, her face flushing. “Lady Celebrían, I am so glad to see you looking so well,” she said, flustered.

Celebrían laughed. “I am pleased you came with Glorfindel. I hoped we would meet again soon, and am glad to have this time to spend with you.” She touched Elrohir’s arm. “Escort Lindórië to the cottage. I am sure she would like a cool drink. We will follow behind.”

Celebrían waited until the pair had a good start before she accepted Glorfindel’s and Elrond’s arms. “I like her,” she said thoughtfully.

Glorfindel laughed. “I do too, but I also know her.”

“I am a very good judge of character,” replied Celebrían. “And she is perfect for Elrohir.”

Elrond raised a brow at her. “Matchmaker? Are you playing matchmaker?”

“So what if I am?” She laughed. “Look at them!”

Elrond looked, and so did Glorfindel, but neither laughed. When they reached the cottage, Celebrían sat with the young elves, but Glorfindel nodded for Elrond to join him outside.

“He is fading. Dying,” said Glorfindel bluntly. When Elrond recoiled slightly at the words, Glorfindel grabbed his arms and shook him. “Do not tell me you do not see it!”

“I see it,” said Elrond. “I am powerless to stop it.”

“Is Celebrían blind to it?”

“Not entirely, but she has faith that this will end. She also sees him daily and so the changes are less noticeable.”

“Where is Olórin? Where is Irmo?” asked Glorfindel, searching the glades.

“They are here. They know. They continue to counsel me to patience, and they have helped Elrohir find peace. But they do not push him to get well.” Elrond could hear the frustration in his own voice.

Glorfindel ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Lindórië loves him.”

“I think he loves her. They fell in love the moment they met, and this second meeting only confirms it.”

“Maybe that love will push him to get well,” said Glorfindel.

* * *

Irmo and Estë came to Elrond two nights later. He followed them to a private area he had not seen before and looked into their grave faces.

“Elrond, we have counseled you to patience these many days. We do not change that counsel, but we believe the time draws near when patience will end. Yet we have a new concern, one unlooked for. The arrival of Lindórië is going to further weaken Elrohir, for he loves her.”

Elrond held out his hands. “I do not understand. The love between elves is strength to them both.”

They both looked upon him intently. “Normally it is,” replied Estë. “But for this time, for Elrohir, what seems to be great joy is going to cause him great pain.”

“Should we send Lindórië away?”

“We have considered this,” answered Irmo. “But the love is already present, and so for Elrohir it makes no difference. Sending Lindórië away would hurt her, and it would hurt Glorfindel. This is not our counsel.”

“What is your counsel?” asked Elrond, his voice calm though he was tense and frustrated.

“Patience,” said Irmo, and he sighed and shook his head. “Elrohir will need you, and Celebrían and your daughter. Let us help you, strengthen you. It pains us to see you put in this … circumstance.”

Elrond bowed his head to hide his emotion. Anger, frustration, and the accompanying feeling of helplessness weighed on him. Then he felt their hands on his shoulder and felt a tingling energy course through him. Never had he been so strengthened and comforted. “We will be near in the days to come,” said Estë quietly.

Elrond returned to the cottage. Celebrían was dozing in a comfortable chair and Glorfindel was staring at the stars. Elrohir and Lindórië were walking hand in hand in the moonlight. He considered speaking to Glorfindel about the words the Valar had spoken to him, but he held his tongue. How could he explain what he did not understand?

* * *

The next day Lindórië was with Celebrían. She had woven soft blankets for the baby and Elrond could hear Celebrían exclaiming over them and then the two were sorting through all the gifts and items Celebrían had prepared. Elrohir was not in the cottage, and Elrond walked along the now familiar garden paths in search of him.

He found him on the same rock near the lake where he had seen him the first night. This time he felt no restraint, but an urging to go to his son. When their eyes met, Elrohir did not attempt to shield the pain of his soul. He reached out to his father and Elrond pulled him close.

“I never knew love could hurt this badly,” gasped Elrohir.

Pain radiated from him in waves, and Elrond poured forth his love and strength to his son. There were light barriers in Elrohir’s mind to places he did not wish his father to go, and Elrond rejected the temptation to do so anyway. The love that pained Elrohir so deeply was his love for Lindórië, but to Elrond’s astonishment, also the love he bore for him and Celebrían. Yet his need for Elrond’s help had overcome his wish to hide this from his father. And though Elrond could not understand why this pain even existed between them, he did what he could to mend and soothe it.

Elrond noted the presence of several others near them. Olórin and Irmo were in sight, and there was an energy in the air that told him they were assisting him and Elrohir. He calmed his son until his hurts were only a dull ache. Then Elrohir’s eyes fluttered closed as exhaustion overcame him.

“He should rest now,” said Olórin. With effortless ease he lifted Elrohir. “We will push him into sleep and dreams of comfort, until your daughter comes.”

Elrond stood, weary, and walked with Olórin back to their cottage. Once Elrohir was settled, Elrond turned to Olórin.

“You have been my friend for an age of this world, Olórin. Now we are watching my son fade and you all say there is naught you can do to heal him. Please, Mithrandir, I beg of you. Speak to me of what is wrong and what can be done.”

A tear ran slowly down the Maia’s cheek. “This is beyond the Ainur to change,” he said gently. “But a time for its end is set. It draws near. Have hope, Elrond.”

Then Olórin turned back to Elrohir and Elrond could see the great power the Maia sent forth into his son. Elrohir’s pallor lessened and he relaxed into deeper sleep. Then they left him.

* * *

That afternoon, a messenger again brought word that visitors had come. Elrond had just walked out of the cottage when he saw Elladan, and behind him, Celeborn and Galadriel and Eärendil and Elwing.

His son had changed. He was more like to Eärendil than to his father or twin, hardier and stronger, and with the same indescribable quality that Elrond had only seen in his sire.

These five brought a merry presence to their temporary home. They met Lindórië and included her as if she were part of the family. Celebrían was immediately surrounded and laughter filled the house. That night, Elladan told them of his journeys with Eärendil and flying with Elwing, and they sat enraptured as he described all that he had seen.

Later, Elladan left them and when Elrond realized it, he went to Elrohir’s room. Elladan stood looking down at his twin for a moment, as if in shock. Never have they looked so different, thought Elrond.

Elladan stood strong and confident and full of life, yet peace did not reign in his heart. Conflicting desires still battled within him, and the spark of those desires drew other people to him. Elrohir was beautiful, Elrond realized again. In sleep his pain was gone and his spirit seemed to shine forth with pure light. Peace did reign in him.

Then Elladan sat carefully on the side of the bed and hesitantly touched Elrohir’s hand where it rested on the coverlet. Elrond could see his confusion.

“Elrohir?” he whispered hoarsely.

A figure appeared outside the room, though shrouded in mists. Irmo, Elrond thought. The Vala called to Elladan, who at first seemed not to hear him. Then Elladan lifted his eyes and looked out into the night. He answered the summons, rising immediately and disappearing into the darkness.

* * *

TBC

Thanks to daw for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 5: The Ring of Doom

Elladan returned in the morning. Elrond thought he looked rested, as if he had slept long and without dreams. He did not go to his brother’s chamber, but instead sat beside Celebrían and greeted her and his soon to be born sister.

“Well, my daughter,” said Celebrían, resting her hands over her large belly. “One year ago today you were conceived. Are you ready to meet everyone?”

The baby seemed to somersault, Celebrían’s gown moving as a foot kicked. She grimaced and then laughed. “Little Mûmakil!” She turned to Elrond and held out her hand. He pulled her to her feet, and she led him out into the gardens. “Let us walk until it is time.”

The morning passed in the timelessness of that place. They strolled the many paths of Lórien in silent anticipation of their daughter joining them.. After Celebrían’s water broke, she bathed in the fountains and was refreshed. Her contractions increased in frequency, yet she hardly seemed to feel them. Then she turned back to their cottage and entered directly to their room. Elwing and Galadriel were waiting. Elrond held her as she pushed, and their daughter came forth immediately in what Elrond thought was likely the easiest labor in the history of elvendom.

“She looks just like Celebrían did at her birth,” said Galadriel as she wrapped the cooing kicking infant in a receiving cloth. Elwing bathed her granddaughter and laid her in Celebrían’s arms, and Elrond felt the deepest sense of contentment he had ever known come over his wife.

“Alassë,” said Elrond as he kissed his daughter and then his wife. “Our joy.”

“A joy she has been so far and a joy she will be,” said Celebrían. “Thank you, my love, for this child.” Then she laughed and looked out into the garden where family and friends had gathered. “Come!”

Elladan came first and took his sister in his arms. His eyes glistened. “She looks like you, naneth. Oh, what joy!” he cried, and then he held her up. “Alassë, I am glad to welcome you to the family in person.”

When all had greeted the bright eyed infant, Celebrían put her daughter to her breast, and leaned back in Elrond’s arms. Elrond held her and forgot all other concerns for a time. He had just wondered if someone should awaken Elrohir when his son appeared in the doorway. When Elrohir caught his gaze, he smiled. Elrond motioned for him to join them.

As Elrohir came to them, Elrond noticed that Estë had also entered the room. Her presence was healing and strength, and Elrond could feel the effect though she stayed at the edge of the room.

Elrohir looked upon his sister and Elrond, touching his arm, felt a sharp pain pierce his son’s heart, as if a blade had been run through him. He slipped his arm about Elrohir’s shoulder. Celebrían took the now satiated infant from her breast and placed her in Elrohir’s arms.

At first, Elrond thought Elrohir might refuse to take the child. Then he drew a deep breath and cradled her to his chest. Elrohir’s tears fell silently. Suddenly it seemed as if something broke inside him, as if those tears had opened his heart. He let the pain flow through him and his love pour out, and the two were mingled and bound. When Elrohir looked up at his parents, Elrond felt the same raw emotion extend also to them.

Lindórië had stood at a distance when everyone else had come to meet Alassë. Now she came when Celebrían beckoned to her, and she sat beside Elrohir and stroked the fine silvery gold hair before kissing Alassë’s head. She met Elrohir’s eyes and did not recoil at the love and pain there. In her eyes, though, there was only love.

A movement from the garden side of the room caught Elrond’s attention. Elladan stood flanked by Eärendil and Celeborn, but he paid no attention to them. Neither was he focused on his parents. His eye were wide and his heart bared, and Elrond could feel the currents of his swift mind racing with many unguarded thoughts as he looked on his brother, the maiden and the baby. Then he turned and looked at Eärendil. Elrond watched his sire incline his head, as if in answer to some question, and understanding crept into his son’s heart.

Elladan smiled. And he laughed. Eärendil embraced him, and when he was done, Celeborn did the same. Elladan strode forward, took Alassë from Elrohir, and placed her in Lindórië’s arms. Then he pulled his brother to his feet.

“Come, Elrohir,” he said. And the two disappeared into the shadows of evening.

* * *

Elrond wandered out of the cottage later, leaving Celebrían surrounded by doting family and friends, for his curiosity and concern for his sons had grown. He found them on the same flat stone where he had comforted Elrohir just a few nights before. Elladan sat behind Elrohir, holding his twin against his chest. Elrohir had melted into that embrace.

He felt the same restraint he had felt that first night in the garden, and knew his sons were being watched over by others. He left them and returned to the cottage.

“You do not look like an elf who has just given birth.” He leaned over Celebrían’s shoulder and wrapped his arms about her, gazing down at Alassë, who looked at him with wide blue-green eyes.

“I am not tired at all,” said Celebrían. “I think this is a gift to us, or an effect of being in Lórien. Regardless, I will not complain.” She sighed and smiled. “I am so glad to have both our sons here, and our parents. Alassë will have all the love a child is meant to have.”

Their daughter yawned and smiled in response, then drifted to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Olórin came to them. While his greeting and smile encompassed them all, his eyes were on Elladan and Elrohir.

“You are summoned to Valimar,” he informed them. “To the Máhanaxar.”

Elrond felt his heart rise into his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His sons did not look surprised. Olórin looked at him. “I am guessing you and Celebrían will wish to be there. We will arrange transport for you.”

Elrond nodded, mute. Then Olórin led Elladan and Elrohir away.

There was silence in the room. Elrond looked at Galadriel. “Do you know what this about?”

She hesitated. “I thought I did, but I think I guessed only part of the story.”

“I suggest we do not speculate, but go to hear what is to be said,” said Eärendil.

Elrond looked at his father and knew that Eärendil did know, at least in part, what was about to happen. He had stood himself in the Ring of Doom.

Then it seemed the Gardens of Lórien emptied, of at least those who had been intimate with the Peredhil. They went to Valimar, the city of the Valar.

* * *

The Valar sat upon their thrones in a half circle about the Ring of Doom. The sight of the Valar sitting in splendor together was a rare event, and all were silent as they approached the outer perimeter of the circle. Beyond them were the great golden gates and they formed a brilliant backdrop as the sun reflected from them in a dazzling array of light.

Elrond was drawn back to the encampment of the Valar in Beleriand where he and Elros had stood once to be told of their choice, and a second time to make it. He had been awed at the Valar then, and he was not much less so now.

Next to him, Celebrían trembled as she clutched their daughter

Then Eonwë stood and blew a small trumpet. When the sound had faded away, he called Elladan and Elrohir forward. Elrond watched in bewilderment as his sons walked hand in hand to the herald, who stood before the thrones of Manwë and Varda. On either side of them were Ulmo and Námo. Irmo and Estë were also present, as were Nienna and others.

Elladan and Elrohir bowed low before the King of the Valar. When he motioned for them to rise, Elladan did so. Elrohir rose more slowly, and one of the attendant Maiar held his arm, steadying him. Elrond’s feet itched to go forward and stand with them, or at least aid Elrohir.

Then Eonwë spoke. “On the day that Eärendil stood before us in this place and pleaded the case of the two kindreds, Eru gave it to Manwë to decide the fate of the half-elven. A choice he granted to Eärendil and Elwing, and to their sons Elrond and Elros. Eärendil and Elwing appointed their fates to the Firstborn, and never again set foot in the outer lands. Elros their son joined his fate to the Secondborn and became father of a mighty people. But Elrond chose also to abide with the Firstborn, and the way west was opened to him.

“To Elrond’s children was given the life of the Firstborn for so long as he abode in Middle-earth, but each was also granted a choice: that they may choose their doom. To those with foresight it was seen that the destiny of Elrond’s children was tied to the blood of the Secondborn. In the choice of Arwen Undómiel was this brought to fruition, and the lines of the Half-elven were reunited. And so, like Lúthien and Elros, she has passed beyond the circles of the world. Now on this day a final decision must be made.”

A murmur rose all around Elrond as the meaning of the herald’s words began to take root in their minds.

Then Námo, Doomsman of the Valar, rose and walked to the twins. He turned first to Elrohir, and his unfathomable gaze looked through the pale and luminescent hroä before him. With one hand he reached out and caressed Elrohir’s face, and Elrohir leaned into that touch. It was as if Námo were calling Elrohir to follow him, and Elrohir’s response was one of trust.

Elrond nearly cried out ‘No!’, but then he felt the touch of a mind on his own. Do not speak, child. This choice belongs to Elrohir. He gasped. Choice? What choice?

The voice in his mind soothed him, and Elrond suddenly realized he could not speak even if he wished to. Some greater power was restraining him.

Námo did not remove his hand from Elrohir, but he turned to Elladan. He studied him long, and his face was grave.

“One delay of your choice was granted you, that you might stay in the east after Elrond your father had departed.” He paused. “A second delay was granted when you entered the Straight Road, for your heart and mind were in conflict, and yet you could not stay. The time of your choice has come, son of Elrond.”

Celebrían gave a low cry and stumbled, and Elrond wrapped his arm about her. Eärendil and Elwing stood beside him, and Galadriel and Celeborn beside Celebrían. Galadriel took her granddaughter and quieted her, for she had sensed her mother’s distress and begun to cry.

Námo turned back to Elrohir. “Elrohir son of Elrond, you made your choice before each delay was granted. Do you abide it still?”

“I do,” answered Elrohir. “I will abide the fate that Elladan chooses.”

A cloud of words, thoughts and deeds flooded Elrond’s mind.

Námo faced Elladan. “Elladan, son of Elrond, thy time has come. Make thou thy choice.”

Elladan looked steadily at Námo. Then he looked upon Elrohir for a long moment. He turned and sought his parents, though his gaze rested longest upon his baby sister. He seemed to be searching beyond them, for someone else. Who it was, Elrond did not know, but Elladan finally turned back to face Námo.

“Twice you have blessed me by not forcing my decision in haste. My heart may ever yearn to know what lies beyond the circles of the world, but I find I desire equally to be here with my family and to experience the gifts you have given me. I choose to be judged with my elven kindred,” replied Elladan.

Námo smiled. “Your choice is accepted.”

Then Estë came forward and took Elrohir’s hands in her own. “Now, child, healing may begin.”

Elrond found his tongue freed and then heard voices all around him. Eärendil and Elwing and Celeborn and Galadriel were speaking and he realized they had guessed that Elladan’s choice was not yet made, but even they were surprised by what they had learned of Elrohir. Celebrían was weeping and clinging to him, and he took a deep breath and calmed himself and her. His eyes remained on his sons, and as Estë touched Elrohir, he saw his son’s light begin to grow and soon he was as bright as Elladan. Elladan did not remain unchanged. Peace settled on him and his restlessness was assuaged, at least for the moment.

When the Valar were done, Elladan and Elrohir turned and faced them. Their hearts were guarded, Elrond realized, and he realized his shock must still be obvious. He cleared his mind and heart and held out his hands to his sons.

Celebrían also broke free of the shock that had paralyzed her and ran to Elrohir, joy lighting her face at the healing that had taken place in him. She clasped him gently though, as if afraid he might break.

“I am sorry, Adar,” said Elladan softly as he walked into his father’s embrace. “It was with you I most wished to share my fears and deepest desires, but I could not. I knew Elrohir’s choice. I have known it for many, many years. I loved and hated him for it.” Elladan’s voice became hoarse. “It seemed a heavy burden for him to place on me, and it was not until I saw how splintered and broken he was in Dol Amroth that I began to understand why he had chosen as he had. When we sailed, I chose what I thought he wanted.

“Manwë did not accept my choice, for it was not freely made. The Straight Way was closed to us. I was in conflict, and I begged Ulmo to let the others pass. But he had already pleaded our case to the Valar, and Manwë granted it.

“I say ‘our’ case,” continued Elladan softly, “but it was my case. Elrohir could not live long in Middle-earth, but I convinced myself that here he could heal. I told myself that if he would but try, it would happen, and then we each could make our choice freely. That is why I left.” He paused for a long moment and his voice was so low that Elrond could barely hear him. “That nearly killed him. Elrohir refused to plead his case to the Valar, to be healed, to be released from his choice. They accepted his choice when they would not accept mine!”

Elrond held his son, speechless.

“I thought Elrohir had chosen to be judged with the Elves and that ….” Elrond stopped. What had he thought? That Elrohir had pressured Elladan to choose alike? “And that you had made your choice in Middle-earth because he was weak, because you feared he would die if you were to choose otherwise.” He shook his head, as if it that would clear all his misconceptions. “I did not know you had been granted a second delay! I did not know Elrohir’s choice. Oh, Elladan, how you have both suffered, each alone! If you had come to me, I would not have tried to dissuade your from your choice, no matter how deeply grieved I might have been!”

Elladan hugged him tightly. “You were so happy when we came. And then we knew about the baby, and I would not steal your joy.”

“Is that why you chose as you did?” asked Elrond in horror.

“No,” replied Elladan gently. He pulled back so that he was looking Elrond in the face. “My mind is open to you, Adar. You know I speak the truth. My desires are in conflict. I thought at first that the desire to be free, to go beyond the Circles of the World was the greater. But when I came to Lórien I realized that my love for all of you was an equal desire. I was swayed by Alassë, for I realized that there was joy to be found here in new life. I was swayed by the gifts the Valar have given me, to fly with Eärendil and Elwing, for there are new explorations yet to be made and I am told I may be part of them. I was even swayed by the love of the Lórien maiden for Elrohir. I want him to know the joy of marriage and being a father as much as I have ever wanted anything.

“If Eärendil is right, I will never wholly be over my restlessness. Yet he abides it, and so will I, with as much grace as can be contrived. I am content with my choice.”

“Elladan,” cried Celebrían, turning to them. She pulled on his arm until he lifted it and drew her close to him. “I hardly know what to say to you. I am so deliriously happy now that I know the truth, yet I am deeply wounded that you did not speak to us.”

“Forgive me, Naneth,” he whispered.

She clutched him tightly. “Forgiven,” she breathed.

Elrond turned to Elrohir, who was standing silently, watching him, paying no heed to those who were waiting to speak to him. For a moment, Elrond did not know what to say. So much of what he thought he had known, Elladan had destroyed with a few words. Elrohir sensed his hesitation and did not move, and he felt the distance grow between them.

Elrond shoved aside his feelings and walked the three steps to him. He wrapped his arms around Elrohir, and after a moment, he felt Elrohir return the embrace. He wept over this child and it was long before he could speak.

“Forgive me, Elrohir,” he finally managed to say. “Forgive me.”

Elrohir sighed in deep contentment and rested his head upon Elrond’s shoulder. If anything, that broke Elrond’s heart further. This son had always thrived on his approval, and only now did Elrond realize that he had withheld it.

“I love you, Adar,” replied Elrohir.

For the first time since he had arrived in Elvenhome, Elrohir opened his heart fully to his father. Elrond could see clearly the dilemma he had faced. He smoothed back Elrohir’s hair and held his gaze. “Tell me, Elrohir.”

“My choice was never between the fate of the Firstborn and Secondborn. It has always been choosing to be with Elladan or choosing to spend the rest of time in the Halls of Mandos. For if we chose fates apart, he with Men and I with the Elves, then I would fade and spend the rest of time a disembodied spirit, for I knew I could never heal from that sundering.”

“I would have wished you had followed him then,” Elrond whispered. “I see now your choice was sound. But, Elrohir, I could not understand why you were not choosing to heal. I did not know why you were failing, and you seemed unwilling to my eyes to take measures to live. I thought your will had failed, and yet it was not so. Your will was of iron.”

“I am weak, Adar,” corrected Elrohir. “I am too closely bound to my brother to live apart from him. He has always had the stronger fëa and I the lesser, and our bond was nearly as irrevocable as that between spouses. Living forever disembodied in the Halls of Waiting I rejected. There is enough blood of the Secondborn in me to wish to know what lies beyond. Arwen and Aragorn are there, and if Elladan were too, then I would have gone.

“My choice was made, but my struggle began anew when I realized Elladan had been granted a second delay. Your love grieved me, for I knew our coming brought you joy, and we might crush you and Naneth if we chose to depart. I faltered when meeting Lindórië, and again when Alassë was born, for I saw then things I would have to forsake that I now wished to have. Yet I would not pressure Elladan by speaking of it to you. His choice had to be made freely. I would not have him regret his decision until the world ends.”

“And yet, Elrohir, few will understand that the reverse is not also true, that in allowing Elladan to choose for you both you might have to live with regret until the world’s end.”

“It matters not what others think.” Elrohir stepped back. “I do care that you understand, Adar.”

“I think I do, Elrohir. At last I think I do. My adar let my naneth choose for them both, and I see a shadow of their choice in your own.” Elrond looked over Elrohir’s shoulder and saw Lindórië standing apart from the family. She had come from Lórien after them. In her eyes, Elrond saw undisguised love for Elrohir. He turned his son in his arms. “Lindórië is here.”

Elrohir smiled at her. “With your permission, Adar, I will be seeking her adar’s permission to court her.”

Elrond’s heart leapt. “Permission granted.” He nudged his son forward. Elrohir went to her and took her hands, and they spoke for a moment. Then she flung her arms about his neck.

Elrond barely caught Celebrían as she did the same to him. She did not speak, just held on to him. “He said nothing to anyone,” Elrond told her in wonder. “He counted himself weak and then made a choice with a will of iron and held to it despite the pain in his soul and the failing of his body.”

“The Peredhil are stubborn.” She kissed his cheek. “I am married to one and parented three others. I am the foremost Elven expert in the world on the subject.”

“Alassë seeks her naneth,” said Galadriel.

With a cry of joy, Celebrían took her daughter in her arms. Elrond thought of the moments he had wondered at their hastiness in conceiving this child and cast them all aside. She was a balm to their souls.

“Elrond. Celebrían.”

They turned at the sound of their names to find the Doomsman of the Valar standing before them. Celebrían instinctively clutched their daughter to her breast. Námo inclined his head to her. “Do not be afraid.”

Elrond was surprised by the gentleness of the voice. His mind returned and he bowed before the Vala, and Celebrían managed to do the same. When they looked at him again, he continued.

“The choices of the Peredhil are over. This child, and any others born in Aman, will be judged with their elven kindred. You need have no fear for her, or any future… grandchildren.”

With that, Námo winked and they followed his gaze to Elrohir and Lindórië who stood hand in hand, speaking quietly.

They laughed. When Námo held out his arms, Celebrían gave him their daughter. He pronounced her fate again and blessed her, and laughed as she gummed the shoulder of his robe. “May she bring you great joy and may you now live in blessedness in these lands.”

He gave her back to Celebrían, bowed his head slightly, and walked away. Then he disappeared right before their eyes.

Alassë began to fuss. Elrond led Celebrían to a bench, and sat down. She leaned against his side, fitting perfectly against him, and set the baby to her breast. She sighed in contentment. He watched as her eyes drifted close, a mirror to their daughter.

He looked over the small crowd that remained. He was struck by how alive they all seemed, and realized that the troubles had weighed upon all of them. Now, it was as if the darkness had lifted and the sun again shone.

His gaze rested on Elrohir. His inner light was strong and pure, but no longer did it consume his body. The long shadow had passed, but he was clearly tired. Lindórië indicated she wished to sit down, and Elrond smiled at the move, for clearly what she wanted was for Elrohir to sit. Yet, she allowed Elrohir to lead her to a bench and see to her comfort. Smart elleth. Already she managed him well. A moment later, Elladan went to them.

He sat at Elrohir’s side and took his hands, and poured himself into his twin. For all the times he had strengthened Elrohir, the bond he shared with his brother was stronger still. To see them together like this gladdened Elrond’s heart.

“I think it is time we took our daughter home,” he murmured to Celebrían.

“Is Elrohir ready? Estë said his healing was just beginning.”

“Elrohir found respite and comfort in Lórien, but I see now that his healing was never the purpose of the Valar. They could heal him now, for he is yet weak.” Elrond paused as Irmo’s words came back to him. “Elrohir has always healed best at home, with his family. That is where he needs to be.” He laughed. “He also needs to speak to Lindórië’s father.”

“I do like her,” replied Celebrían with a contented smile. “I knew she was perfect for him. Will Glorfindel put in a good word for Elrohir with his brother?”

Elrond laughed. “I cannot imagine there will be need. Who could not love our son?”

He felt Glorfindel’s presence before the elf’s hand came down on his shoulder. “No one, Elrond, no one.” A great smile lit his face. “My brother is here. He came to be with Lindórië and has already granted his permission for Elrohir to court her.”

He knelt on the ground behind the bench and rested his arms on it, one hand caressing the baby’s head absently. “I have spoken with Elrohir and Lindórië. Elrohir wishes to go home and has invited Lindórië to come with him. My brother grants it if I come also, but has asked Elrohir to return with Lindórië when he is stronger, so our family may come to know him better.”

Elrond’s attention was caught by movement in the Ring of Doom. He saw Elladan standing before Manwë, Olórin at his side. Elladan bowed and the hand of the king of the Valar rested upon his head for a moment. Then Elladan straightened and accepted some token from the King.

“Whatever is happening?” asked Celebrían.

Glorfindel smiled. “Olórin told me that it was Ulmo who pleaded Elladan’s case to the Valar, as he has ever taken the part of the Peredhil. But it was Manwë who granted Elladan the second delay of their choice and extended it to after the birth of Alassë, and he also who allowed Elladan to sail with Eärendil and fly with Elwing. He believed that Elladan would eventually decide to be judged with the Elven kindred. That is a greater boon than I think we can understand. But he also has his purposes. He would not tell Elladan before his choice was willingly made, but he has some task for him befitting one with the dual nature of mankind and elvenkind.” He smiled at them. “I do not know what the task is, and if Olórin knows, he will not say. But as with Eärendil, the Valar will do their best to find purpose for his restlessness.”

“Elladan has always needed purpose,” replied Elrond. He smiled. “We began this day in bewilderment and confusion. We end it with more joy than I could have imagined.”

All save Eärendil returned to Lórien that night. Estë called to Elrohir and he went to her gladly. When they returned the next morning and Elrond saw his son, he could scarcely believe the change that had come over Elrohir.

“Why are you surprised?” asked Estë. “His dual natures were in conflict, but now one is chosen to rule his fate, and no longer will he be torn in two. He will soon be whole and strong.” She kissed Elrohir’s forehead. “Go home in peace. You will always be welcome here, if ever you desire rest and refreshment.” Then she disappeared into the trees.

A comfortable carriage had been provided for Celebrían and Alassë, and they set out for home a few hours later. Elwing joined them in the transport for a while.

“On the coast north of the Swan Havens and south of the tower, there is an inlet and small bay where the steep walls of the Pelori were torn asunder, creating one of the most beautiful spots I have seen. I have flown to it often, for there is a stream of cool water that splashes over the rocks to the sea below.”

Celebrían’s face lit up and she turned to Elrond expectantly, and he remembered her words of the sea.

“We will come and see it as soon as Elrohir is stronger and Alassë a little bigger,” replied Elrond.

Elwing held Alassë for a while, but when they next stopped she kissed them all goodbye. She walked away from the carriage to the top of a small hill, then lifted her arms and leapt into the air.

Elladan watched her go. “We need to go there soon, Elrohir. I want to learn to fly properly, and you must see the tower.”

Elrond smiled. Perhaps it was time for the House of Elrond to move to Aman.

The End.

Thanks to daw for beta reading this chapter.

Behold I love the Earth, which shall be a mansion for the Quendi and the Atani! But the Quendi shall be the fairest of all earthly creatures, and they shall have and shall conceive and bring forth more beauty than all my Children; and they shall have the greater bliss in this world. But to the Atani I will give a new gift.' Therefore he willed that the hearts of Men should seek beyond the world and should find no rest therein; but they should have a virtue to shape their life, amid the powers and chances of the world, beyond the Music of the Ainur, which is as fate to all things else; and of their operation everything should be, in form and deed, completed, and the world fulfilled unto the last and smallest.

Ilúvatar, Quenta Silmarillion

This story is dedicated to all who yearn for what lies beyond the Circles of the World and the source of the Imperishable Flame.