Notes: The main characters of the story are young in this timeline; not more than a decade beyond the age of majority in Elven customs, I would guess. Therefore, to me, they would behave just like young adults. And faced with an overwhelming separation, one might forsake almost anything he is used to do or observe…

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The harbour was bustling with activity. Large ships were prepared and manned. People and cargo alike were loaded into them, under the bright morning sun. The noises of Mannish and Elven voices mingled warmly, mixed between a sad farewell and a keen hope of future happiness and prosperity.

The Men were readying themselves to depart to the island the Valar meant for them. Decades had lapsed since the end of the War of Wrath, and now it was the time to go and take the generous gift.

But one person did not view it as a generous gift, at all.

Young Elrond stood alone some distance from the centre of the hubbub, watching all the activities unfolding before him with hawk-like gaze. The turmoil which had been eating at his heart now threatened to break loose from his iron grip. Every part of him ached, expecting the inevitable parting that he would have to endure just moments away. True, he had felt how his bond with his twin brother weakened after Elros had proclaimed his choice of mortality; but to see the physical evidence of the separation…

Someone was approaching, but he did not move from the smooth spot on the rock formation he had been standing upon. After all, several more people had approached him this morning only, to ask him to join the others in the last preparations and farewells. Lord Círdan, Erestor, Ereinion, Amborn (apparently his brother’s right hand), Lord Lúnwë…

“Son of Eärendil.”

So it was Lord Lúnwë, again.

“You call Elros thus.”

“Is he not your brother, and therefore also Eärendil’s son?”

The young Elf did not deign to give the intruder any further response. And he did not wish to dwell on the true answer of that simple but shrewd question anyway. It struck too close to the core of his misery, and he did not wish to tackle the problem head on now – perhaps never.

The Maia navigated the rocks, until at last he stood beside the disconsolate youth. Elrond let him stay there, as long as he said and did nothing more. And the Half-Elf was confident that Lord Lúnwë would wait until he wished to say or do anything in response, as the Maia had demonstrated countless times (mostly to the Men who were destined to occupy the gift island, whom he had been tutoring in various matters). In fact, come to think of it again…

“My lord, why have you come?” Elrond turned his gaze from the ever-undulating water below to said Maia.

“Elros needs you, child,” Lúnwë answered readily, in that silent tone of his. His answer had been the same as when he had visited the youth earlier in the morning. Elrond scowled and gritted his teeth.

“He does not. He has many people and things to content with now, and I am out of the list, ever since… that choice,” he said, refusing to meet Lúnwë’s eyes. There, he had said it, at last; but why had his burden not eased, like people had always said about this kind of problem? It had worked on him before, too. So why not now?

“He is still your twin brother.”

Elrond whipped his head around to meet Lúnwë’s passive gaze squarely. Anger boiled in him, but it died down on the odd look he spied in the Maia’s light blueish-grey orbs. “You never know what a separation like this means,” he hissed, looking into Lúnwë’s eyes with an effort, trying to stoke the proverbial fire.

He got more than what he had bargained for.

Lúnwë was no longer so stoic, placid. Even though just for a moment, his eyes, usually dim and remote, were expressive, with a wide range of emotions – even fear and envy. But what should he fear? What should he envy? What part of this fatal separation between the twins did he recognise and relate to?

Elrond looked away and gingerly skirted the Maia. The sudden show of emotions and the turbulent power beneath it, for once nearly tangible, frightened him. And it seemed that the sea echoed the mood perfectly. Lord Lúnwë had looked and felt like an Elf, that he had forgotten said Maia was not an Elf at all.

He almost missed the words Lúnwë whispered then. But what he heard did not calm him at all.

“Be thankful that you are not torn from each other with disregard to your free will and brutally, child. There are much worse alternatives to a separation between those appearing to be destined to be together. Do not let temporary selfishness and jealousy blind you.”

“But he is my twin brother, as you said!” the youth protested, trying to ignore the dark, knowing undertone in that quiet declaration that sent shivers down his spine. “We are indeed destined to be together.”

“Is that so, child? Perhaps, if you look into your soul and compare it to your brother’s, you will see.”

Elrond balled his fists. He wanted to hit the Maia, but he could not, he would not. He was so riled up now inside, frustrated and upset. He hated it – this lack of control, this ripple in his calm life, this shift and change.

Had Elros not loved it, though? That fair-haired, bright-eyed twin of his had always panicked Erestor and Ada Maglor with his stunts and adventures; and Ereinion, too, had been forced to make him lead some Men during the War of Wrath in order to curb his restlessness and instill some cool-headed responsibility into him… He had loved stirring things up when they had become too calm, and now he was about to embark on – perhaps – his greatest adventure ever…

Would he begrudge his beloved brother that?

Would he be willing to trade places with his twin, so he – maybe, just maybe – did not have to endure the separation until the end of Eä? Could he stand living as a Secondborn? Would Elros survive long living as a Firstborn, and the people around him with him?

His lips tilted up slightly, in a grim manner. The visions his mind conjured were darkly funny, in a macabre sort of way. And now the Half-Elf, who had chosen to be a Firstborn, was forced to admit the cold reality his undesired companion had enforced on him.

“Thank you,” he said reluctantly, not meeting the Maia’s eyes. Then, lamely, he added, “I am going to search for my brother now.” He got no answer. His senses told him that Lord Lúnwë was no longer so… upset… though, so he murmured a farewell and trekked back to the centre of the harbour – Mithlond.

Elrond was grateful for how Lúnwë had indirectly dragged him away from his selfish misery, in hindsight. It turned out that the Men were about to depart, and Elros had stayed them just because he and his twin brother had not had a proper farewell. That had upset the golden-haired soon-to-be-king, Lord Círdan had told him – with a sharp, pointed look – when Elrond had asked about his brother’s whereabout. It was a new thing for Elros, since he was not easy to rile up save when he was excited, and Elrond found this aspect of the situation distasteful.

With a resolve to cheer his brother up as an atonement and probably a parting gift, the youth quickly made his way to the hill Lord Círdan had pointed out.

He had not expected anyone to pounce at him from behind, and certainly not a mischievous, mirthful Elros in all his sea-voyage-designed fineries. A bout of laughter was torn from his lips before he could prevent it; it was typically Elros to dress up like royalty and behave like a ten-year-old Elfling.

“Brother!” he chid the older twin when he had recovered himself, while his heart fluttered rapidly from the surprise.

Elros seemed to brighten at that one word, but there was sadness underneath the cheery look he put up. Noticing that, Elrond’s irritation receded and he lifted an eyebrow inquiringly. But Elros only shrugged and just beckoned his dark-headed brother to follow him up the hill.

They seated themselves on its crest, looking out to the rows of large ships along the harbour and the great expanse of sea beyond. There was no one else nearby, surprising Elrond, who knew how devoted and protective the Men were towards his brother, but he did not ask. There were more pressing matters to deal with, after all, and now that Elros was here with him…

“Will we ever meet again?” he murmured, his eyes fixed on a pair of dolphins off the harbour.

“We will, until I leave this world. That is, if you manage to wheedle Lord Círdan into lending you a ship and some crew to go to the island. I did urge you to learn how to handle a ship when he was apprenticing me, you know. You forsook it for your boring tomes.” Elros clearly attempted to lighten their mood, but failed. The bittersweet melancholy between and around them was hard to ignore or shift away.

Elrond opened his mouth, but then closed it again. How to confess his thoughts and feelings to his brother without hurting them both even more?

It was probably a good idea that he had refrained himself from saying anything, for Elros then pulled his eyes away from the harbour and the sea and looked at him intently – pleadingly. Gone was the childishness he had displayed so far, and the flicker of humor; he was totally serious now, as rarely seen before. In him, Elrond saw the flash of a future he would lead; a great king in his own rights.

He was not prepared for the admission whispered through his brothers pinched lips, all the same.

“My line will fail someday, brother. You have to be there to assist what is left of it to rebuild. And then, the last hope for a king out of all the chaos will seek you for your aid and shelter. I… I hope you will be so generous…”

Elros looked away. Elrond inhaled sharply, shocked. Such fatal information– How had his brother acquired it? Elros had always teased him about the occasional visions visiting him… So now he had a taste of his own medicine? The thought did not humor Elrond as he might have in another time and situation; besides, presently his mind was too full of questions to laugh at the irony of it all.

But he could not ask how Elros had gotten it, nor had he had the heart to pester his brother about the details of the vision. How could he act on the plea if he did not know enough? Yet would he not try his best to secure his brother’s line even without those details? He was sure that having someone who carried Elros’ blood in his veins nearby, however diluted it might be in the future, would be a boon for him.

“I shall,” he murmured. “I vow to you, brother; I shall aid, shelter and educate anyone bearing your blood who seek them from me… if he or she bears no ill will to Elves or Men or Dwarves.”

It was the most radiant look Elros had given anyone, that he directed at Elrond.

They spent the whole day together in the privacy of the hill. Elros’ fleet of ships departed came evening, after Elros himself had cajoled Círdan, Erestor and Ereinion to accompany his twin to visit him some time in the new island. Lúnwë approached Elrond, before he boarded the head ship with Elros, going on with the plan that he would stay with the Men until they reached their destination. He gave the youth a package padded with what felt like rags and wrapped in oilcloth while saying, “Open this only when you really need to see Elros again.”

It baffled Elrond, but he obeyed the instruction faithfully. He brought the package almost everywhere, but rarely dared to hold it for a long time, less to dwell on the mystery surrounding it. But the temptation was sometimes hard to ignore. He sorely wanted to open it in various occasions – the day Elros’ died, the day he founded his own realm, the day Ereinion fell, the day his beloved wife departed Middle-Earth forever and his family torn apart…

Elros’ line did fail – much to his grief. The island whom the Men had been so excited and grateful about was sunk back into the sea, after its latest king’s heinous act of trying to take over Aman in order to gain power and immortality. After the escape of the Faithful to Middle-Earth and after the bitter victory achieved by the Last Alliance in the end of the Second Age, Arnor slowly crumbled, followed by Gondor. As he had promised more than three thousand years ago, Elrond fostered the surviving royal blood of Arnor, who then became chieftains of a forgotten people and hidden protectors. However, despite his brother’s vision coming true so far, he felt that it had not yet reached its completion. A desperate need should come before the child from the vision arrived to him, he surmised; and as hard as the wandering and secluded life the Dúnedain had resorted to was, Imladris had always aided them in their most desperate situations before they got out of hand.

It was not until three thousand years into the Third Age that the vision was truly fulfilled. Elrond did not know whether he should grief for the Dúnedain, or rejoice and be relieved with the news his sons rode home for. They were escorting Gilraen, the wife of the current chieftain – who had died, his sons said – and her son, Aragorn. The woman pleaded for him to take care of her child. He obliged, promptly, his brother’s shining eyes and face and his splitting grin vivid in his mind.

And indeed, the three-year-old Aragorn looked and behaved unnervingly very similar to Elros throughout their uncertain and nomadic childhood, once he went over his confusion and grieving for his father. Taking care of him was a bittersweet pleasure for Elrond, but gradually he perceived the little imp as his brother-son and treated him thus, even when it came to said child’s lovelife – which unfortunately included his prized and cherished daughter in the bargain. Still, his love towards the child – now growing into a man more akin to Elros than ever – never diminished. And given how his Estel had become too much like Elros, the package Lord Lúnwë had given him sat untouched in a strong, hidden box in his bedchamber, and the knowledge of its existence was buried deep in his mind.

It was only remembered again when Aragorn and Arwen had been married to each other, and Aragorn had retaken the ruling seats of Gondor and Arnor. Elros’ child had been so regal and commanding, handsome and benevolent, and the veins of his heritages shone through, unveiled. Elrond wondered if his brother had looked that way in his coronation in the lost Númenor after the realm had been fully built. That, and the grief of the knowledge that he would lose both children to the gift of the Secondborn, made him long to behold Elros once again and take comfort from his brother’s presence.

He dug into the box and brought out the package, which looked almost as if it had only been given to him before the Men had left Mithlond two ages ago. After just a little hesitation, he pealed off the wrapping and padding,

And there, lying on his lap, was a picture of his brother and himself sitting side by side on a grassy background. Elros’ expression was the one he had presented Elrond when the younger twin had agreed to watch out for his line, and Elrond in that picture looked immensely pleased; so much and so comical that the much-older Elrond, who was looking at the painting with wrapped attention, went into a small fit of self-conscious laughter.

He sobered quickly, however, and addressed the painting of his brother in a murmur, “It is done, brother; your descendent will restart your bloodline again. I will not be here to keep it going… but you would not begrudge me a happy reunion with my wife, would you? I dare say you are grinning like that wherever you are now, eh? You always had the knack to get whatever you wanted… and I did not begrudge you that. I will not, now.”

A burden he had not known exi

sting was lifted from his soul. Elrond arched a small smile. His duty had been carried out well.