Note: Thousand thanks and hugs to Ellynn, for beta-reading and great suggestions!

Elladan

The boulder I am leaning against is warm. A gentle breeze plays with loose strands of my hair, the light behind my closed eyelids is golden. The Sun warms that part inside me that is always cold, that part I have been hiding from everyone for years, even from my brother. That lump of ice in my chest thaws a little bit in the sunlight.

But the moment of bliss is short. Warmth grows faint, the glow fades, and I look up at the gathering clouds with a sigh. The year is too young for a full day of unclouded sky yet, and the spring weather so close to the shore is unreliable.

Elrohir emerges from the copse of tangled trees where he has rested in the shade and turns towards me with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. “Purring like a cat in the Sun again, brother?” But his smile swiftly fades, and we share a stab of grief. That is what our sister often said. Arwen, our sister…

I rise, take a few steps towards the outcrop and watch for a while our destination, Emyn Beraid and the white towers gleaming in the distance. Then I turn the other way. The far-off places we have left behind are clear and vibrant in my mind’s eye. The Great East Road runs to the green hills of the Shire, the town of Bree beyond and further on, crossing the Lone-lands, towards Imladris. There, Bruinen still rushes over the rapids, fed by the melting snow in the mountains, and waterfalls gleam like silver threads in the spring Sun. Songbirds weave their nests in the thickets on the riverside. In mother’s garden the new leaves of rose bushes are close to unfolding. Bright blue flowers scatter the ground at the feet of mighty trees we once climbed as children. The air is fresh and fragrant after the spring rains…

“What a beautiful land this is.”

I speak aloud and wonder at my own words. Did I consider Middle-earth beautiful before? Maybe I did when I was younger. But afterwards… afterwards I paid little heed to beauty, and even now this awareness comes from the mind rather than from the heart. Too many memories of death and pain veil it.

Elrohir comes to stand beside me, and again, not for the first time during these last months, I sense something clouding my brother’s heart. Fear? Uncertainty? I am not sure. Whatever the feeling is, he is hiding it well.

“Do you… regret going away?” My brother’s tone is cautious, his eyes - guarded.

I shake my head. “It is just strange to take leave like this. Forever.”

We stand side by side, watching the winding ribbon of the Road that disappears amid green fields and scattered patches of trees. At length I sigh and shoulder my pack.

“Let us go.”

Stepping down from the hillock, we return to the Road and turn westward. For some two miles, vast fields and grasslands stretch on either side. After that woodlands appear, sparse at first, then growing into dense thickets in places. We have walked five miles or a bit more when Elrohir suddenly halts.

“I hear something ahead.” He tilts his head, listening. “It sounds like—”

“…a battle,” I finish the sentence. “Let us be wary.”

As we advance quiet as shadows through the woodland, the sound of clanking metal and distant shouts grows louder. At the source of it, we cautiously peer from the cover of trees. A clearing, some hundred paces across, is made into a disordered camp, with a firepit and several tents amid scattered boulders. There, a company of King’s soldiers is fighting a band of dishevelled but fierce-looking men.

“These must be the highway robbers we heard of in Bree.” Elrohir takes a step towards the clearing, hand on the sword-hilt.

I restrain him. “This is no longer our fight. They need not our help. There are fifty soldiers against, what, twenty of those brigands?”

“You are right.” He steps back with some reluctance. “Still, I would see how this ends.”

The fight is short. The soldiers are much better armed, far better trained and more numerous, and those they have been fighting are soon in bonds. Three bandits have fallen, a couple of soldiers and some of the brigands have sustained injuries. Still, in a brief while the company has assembled and is heading westward, to the place where the road forks, running straight towards Mithlond and south towards the town of Orfornost. It is the same direction we must take.

We keep behind the company, but at the crossroads where they have halted to rest we catch up with them. As we emerge from the turn of the road, several soldiers rise and reach for their weapons. Their captain, a tall, bearded man who looks to be in his mid-fifties, regards us sternly.

“Halt! What is your purpose on this road, strangers?”

“A peaceful one, captain.” I raise my hands, palms outward. “We are on a journey to Mithlond, my brother and I.”

He frowns. “Are you even old enough to be on the road on your own?”

“We are a bit older than we look, my lord.” Elrohir gives him a slight bow. “And we have our father’s leave and encouragement. He considers such a journey… necessary for our education.”  I catch a glint of mirth in my brother’s eyes. With a bit of effort and disguise, we now deliberately choose to pass for young mortals rather than become objects of wide-eyed wonder. Fewer and fewer Elves travel in these parts of Endor nowadays.

“Hmm, very well.” The captain nods and withdraws his hand from the hilt of the sword. “A wise man, your father. Traveling is good for the young. Mithlond, is it? I wish you joy in seeing it, though it is a sad place, they say, with the Firstborn gone. Still, a beautiful sight. The road is safe now, too.” He casts a glance at the bound prisoners, and his eyes flash. “These sons of Orcs haunted the villages and highways this past winter, but their misdeeds are at an end. We are taking them to Orfornost for a trial.”

“We heard of them in Bree,” says Elrohir. “Thank you for keeping peace and order, captain.”

“That is what we do.” The captain shrugs. “My grandfather fought at the Black Gate years before you, lads, were even born, and maybe some of your elder kin fought there too.” When we nod, he continues, “They fought for a better world, you see, for a world without evil. So we must ferret out the last remains of it.” He looks at his men. “Is everyone rested? We still have a few hours of daylight to reach the town and put these here under lock and key.”

We bid farewell to the company. The dust of their horse-hooves has barely settled, when Elrohir looks at me expectantly. “Shall we go as well? If we walk through the night, we will be in Mithlond before the dawn. We should use the fair weather while it holds. The winds on the coast are unpredictable in this time of year, and adding to that our skill with boats…”

Again, I sense in him that feeling I cannot name. Is he uneasy about the journey? True, we have little skill in sailing, but I trust that under protection of the Valar the grey ship will carry us safely to the Undying Lands. When I try to catch his gaze, my brother averts his eyes.

I shake my head in frustration and step on the road, but then something stops me. It is like an insistent whisper, an irresistible pull.

“Brother?” Elrohir looks at me with a question in his eyes.

I stand still for a moment, listening to the sounds of the woods and fields around. Nothing unusual there, and yet... “We should go back.”

“Back?”

My brother slightly pales. The shield slips briefly. He is hiding fear, I am sure of it now. But – fear of what? I watch him closely as I reply: “To the place of battle. To the camp of outlaws.”

Elrohir releases the breath he has been holding. The fear fades. “Are you certain?”

It is clear I will have no explanation from him now, so I nod, slightly irritated. “Yes. I know we should not tarry. And yet…”

He questions me no more. “Let us go then.” Through the years of fighting side by side we have learned to trust each other’s senses.

“The captain spoke of a world without evil…” Elrohir breaks the silence when we have measured a few miles. “But those men, those robbers… They looked so unmistakeably wicked. Everything we heard in Bree about their deeds confirms this. And yet… Darkness is gone. Why are they like that? How does evil endure?”

Can you root out Darkness entirely? All our long history bears witness that we cannot. The very thought of a world without evil is a deception.

“I think Darkness never departs fully, not from the hearts of people like these,” I slowly reply. “Evil simply is. It has a foothold on Arda Marred. Father used to say this, remember?” I fall silent and stare ahead, unblinking.

“We shall see father soon,” Elrohir says quietly, aware of my mood. “And mother. And our grandparents.”

“I hope they are well. Father… he looked so worn out when leaving. So tired. Almost like…” My voice breaks. I cannot finish this sentence.

My brother suddenly stops and grips my hands. “They are well,” he says firmly. “They must be. Valinor is a place of healing. They all are well, and we will see them soon.”

I nod. Elrohir knows what I was about to say. When boarding the ship, father seemed almost as weary as Estel in those last weeks ere he laid himself down to rest. My eyes sting. Our brother is gone. Our sister is gone, and only a small mound in the once-majestic woodland marks her last resting place. Will the grief for the lost loved ones ever fade?

Elrohir

Elladan suspects something. His questions I have so far avoided, but he sees deep – in this regard closely resembling our father. I both long and dread clarity, but for now, dread has the upper hand, and I keep silent. Perhaps my fear is unfounded. Perhaps. Yet... what if it is not?

The Sun has already disappeared behind the trees when we reach the clearing. Carefully we search the ill-ordered camp that nonetheless appears to be used for quite some time. The ground is trampled, a thick layer of soot covers the firepit. Things lie scattered around – dirty clothing, shards of crockery, broken gear.

“It is a wonder they succeeded to hide this long,” I say with disgust, shoving aside remains of a tattered coat. “Do you know what we are looking for, brother?”

Elladan shakes his head. “I still do not know why I turned back. But there was that strange feeling…” Suddenly he falls silent, his gaze bent on a patch of ground beside the fireplace. He takes a step closer, then kneels, surveying it intently. “Someone crawled away from here,” he quietly says and picks up a stone with darks stains on it. “Someone wounded. I think we should have a look at this track.”

Slowly, step by step we follow the trail in the fading light. The ground around the camp is uneven, with patches of withered last year’s grass and stones. The further we get, the more bloodstains we discover. At length, after a few hundred paces of tracking, we halt before a large boulder. The tracks go around.

Suddenly rocks shift beneath our feet. Elladan nearly loses his footing, and I pull him away from the edge of a deep pit with steep sides at the last moment. The night has almost fallen by now, as we peer in the shadows below.

“There is someone there,” I whisper. “Not moving; dead or senseless. I will go down.”

Elladan lights a torch and sticks it in the ground on the edge. I tie a rope around a nearby tree and descend.

The light that reaches the bottom of the pit is too meagre to give a clear view, but I discern a prone figure and hear a shallow breath.

“Whoever is down here is alive! You will have to lift us both up.”

After a while, some effort and help from my brother, I climb over the edge of the pit with the unconscious body of the stranger. We carry him towards the midst of the camp and lay upon one of our blankets. While Elladan lights the fire, I turn to assess the stranger’s wounds.

He has suffered most cruel beating. The stranger’s face is so swollen that it is nigh impossible to discern the features, his skin is a tapestry of dried blood and blackening bruises. His wheezing breath speaks of several broken ribs, his left wrist is shattered, and the awkward angle of the arm indicates broken or dislocated shoulder.

“How… is he?” Elladan asks hesitantly.

Pushing back a sudden flare of irritation and a biting remark, I reach for the stranger’s spirit with all the gift and skill I possess, painfully aware how scant they are. Still, I am the healer here. This is my duty.

My brother does not repeat the question, but his eyes are intent on my face. After a while I release the breath I have apparently been holding.

“He is very far from being well, but not in mortal danger either, if his injuries will be duly tended.” 

“Do you think he is one of those cut-throats?” Elladan is eyeing the stranger somewhat suspiciously. Yet he has already prepared bandages and set a kettle of water to heat over the fire. The strong scent of athelas rises in the air.

“Their victim, I think. King’s soldiers likely interrupted their… sport.” I grit my teeth. “Depraved beasts! He barely escaped with his life; it is a wonder he could crawl that far.”

Elladan nods and sets to help me clean and dress the stranger’s wounds. “I never thought to witness something like this again,” he softly says. “Not in this Age. Such cruelty… I doubt this poor man was hiding any riches. His clothing is little more than rags, his boots are all but falling apart.”

“Maybe that was exactly what angered them - that there was nothing they could take from him. Unless…” I have just noticed that stranger’s right hand is tightly clenched into fist. Gently I pry open his fingers, and gold gleams in the firelight. “This,” I say softly. “They wanted this.” Elladan regards the golden band with such distrust that I laugh shortly. “I think it is just his wedding ring, brother. His only treasure the robbers tried to take. Look closely.” I point to his hand, to the tell-tale imprint on his finger, and slip the ring back in its place.

“You are right.” Elladan smiles, but his smile vanishes almost instantly. “His hands…”

I sigh and nod. Both his palms have been severely burned and poorly healed, so that the skin and flesh are drawn tightly and unevenly over the crooked fingers. I shudder to even think about the agony of such burns and about the consequences. At best, he does not have any feeling in his fingers now. At worst, the old injuries still cause anguish.

The stranger is deeply unconscious; even the pain of setting his broken limbs does not wake him. When the most severe wounds are tended, I drench a cloth in warm water and start cleaning his swollen and bruised face.

Suddenly I freeze. “Elladan!” Accidentally I have brushed a strand of blood-matted dark hair away from his ear and stare at the pointed tip. “Elladan, this… this is no Man!”

My brother leans closer.  “I thought the ones from Imladris were the last,” he slowly says after several moments of silence.

“The last?” I shake my head, uncomprehending. “Many of the Wood-elves will never make the journey. And there must still be Avari somewhere to the east.”

“He is neither of the Wood-elves, nor of the Avari. Do you not feel?”

I search for the stranger’s fëa again, and after a while I sense what I should have sensed in the beginning. The Light. It is faint, nearly fading, but unmistakeably there. Only few in Imladris bore it. Calanwë. Erestor. And, brightest of them all, Glorfindel. The stranger is one of the High Elves.

I turn towards Elladan, fold my arms on my chest and pierce him with a look I do not even attempt to rid of anger. “So, you can feel something, after all.”

He flinches. “Everyone would have felt that.”

“Everyone except me, it seems!” I throw on the ground the wet rag I have been holding. “Now that you have made a fool of me, you are welcome to take over.”

“You know I cannot take over.”

The utter weariness in Elladan’s voice quells my anger at once. I have been unjust. He has sensed it, even with the residue of his gift, once so much greater than mine. “I am sorry I spoke like that.”

“No, you were right.” My brother lowers his eyes. “It was wrong of me to interfere. I will do so no more.”

“Interfere in any way you will. I do not mind, as long as it helps him.”

“I cannot help him.” Elladan sighs, takes the cloth, rinses it, then starts washing away the blood again. “What a strange turn of fate,” he says softly after a while. “That on our last journey in Middle-earth we should find one of the Calaquendi.”

“Indeed.”

I look closer at the stranger. Now, with the blood washed away, even apart from the raven hair, beyond the swelling and bruises I can easily imagine strong and proud features of a Noldo. What has brought him to such a state? What has driven him into the hands of the highway robbers? And... what are we to do with him? A cold fist closes around my heart as I tend the last hurts.

Later I sit by the crackling fire and stare in the flames. My mind is racing. What are we to do now? The grey ship lies anchored in the Havens, and spring storms will be on us shortly, but how can we abandon one of our people? Yet if we delay our departure… What if... what if this turn of events changes Elladan's mind? He has spoken of fate... Will he not reconsider leaving? Am I to lose my brother after all? Tightly I grip the hem of my coat as fear fights with bitter shame. Should I be having such thoughts while tending one so severely injured? Should I not be thinking first of my charge? A fine healer indeed! What would father say if he saw me now?

“So that is what you have been hiding.”

Startled, I look up and meet my brother’s gaze. Blood rushes to my face. The fears I have deemed so selfish and shielded from him so far are now laid bare.

“I did not wish to steer your decision, brother. You do not have to… to align your choice with mine.” I force the words, nearly choking on tears. “I would not compel you. Ever. If you think you could be happy here, love this land, this new Age— “

“No,” Elladan interrupts me. “What would I do here? This is no longer our land. No longer our age. Our people have left. A rediscovered love for fair sights would not suffice to make up for the loss of you and our parents.”

I clasp together my hands. “Ever since father sailed, I have feared you might choose to remain,” I whisper. “You have always loved Endor more than I do. And Imladris too. But I can stay there no longer. It is no longer a home. It is but a shell, a sad memory of what it once was. With everyone gone... those empty walls...” My voice breaks.

“I know.” He pulls me in embrace. “I know, brother. We shall find a new home beyond the Sea. With those who are still left to us.”

The dam of penned-in fear and uncertainty bursts. Elladan holds me close as I sob against his shoulder, and when I raise my eyes, I see firelight reflected in two distinct tracks of tears that run over my brother’s cheeks.

“You should have spoken earlier,” he softly says. “That would have spared us both sorrow and worry.”

“Yes. Forgive me.” I brush my hand over my face and turn towards the senseless Elf. There is no change. His eyes are closed, his chest rises and falls with a shallow wheezing breath. “What are we to do with him?”

Elladan regards the stranger for a few moments. “There is but one thing we can do.”

Elrond

After staring at the blank page for what feels to be hours, I put away the writing tools and rise from the desk. Words that usually flow freely from my pen, today fail to arrange themselves on the paper. Not merely today, I admit to myself with a sigh. It has been four days like this already. Since Celebrían travelled to Tirion.

I pass from room to room, rearranging the chairs by the fireplace, putting away in the shelf some books I will likely need in the coming days, aligning a picture on the wall, askew for maybe a hair’s breadth. The house feels dismal and empty. The sadness is digging in its claws again.

It happens seldom lately. With Celebrían beside me - never. But sometimes when I am alone, the world loses all colour and joy. Despite my effort to hide this, I think my wife suspects. She is reluctant to leave me alone; ever since I came to Valinor we have never been apart for more than a few days. She was unwilling to travel without me this time, too, but I insisted, on a pretext of setting in order the notes for my book. Celebrían needs time and space for herself. I will not chain her to me.

I step out on the porch. Low clouds move slowly in the sky and veils of fog drift over the hills that are sloping gently towards the Sea. Valinor is fair by any weather, and I usually find beauty also in an overcast day such as this… if there is someone to share the day with. But it will take nearly two more weeks for Celebrían to return from the betrothal celebration of her friend. Until then, I will be alone here.

This is a lovely place. With green hills sweeping down to the Sea and weather that is somewhat wilder and less predictable than further south it reminds me of shore-lands near Lindon. I hesitated but briefly when came a chance to build our country house here. The lodging is spacious enough and refreshingly simple compared to the place in Tirion my loving family bestowed upon us shortly after my arrival. It was so unusual then – to be the one who is being watched over, cared for. At first, it was difficult to admit that I needed their care. Only with the power of the Rings gone, I realized how much I had relied on strength that was not my own.

I turn Vilya on my finger. I still wear it, as Galadriel still wears Nenya and Mithrandir, nay, Olorin, wears Narya – in memory and respect for its maker. Not a sad memory any longer: my cousin is now happily sharing his time between the Mansions of Aulë, his own workshop in Tirion and his city house. Sometimes I wonder when such peace of mind and lightness of heart will come to me. If it will come at all.

Irritated at my own brooding, I cast a light cloak on my shoulders and follow the winding path towards the Sea. Perhaps a walk and some fresh air will dispel the gloomy thoughts.

When I reach the shore, I turn northward and walk slowly along the waterline. The high tide is just receding, leaving shells and clumps of weed scattered on the wet sand. Low grey clouds that show no sign of breaking anytime soon carry rain over the waves. Even the calls of seabirds sound cheerless. What we notice around us is but the reflection of our own state of mind… Have I read these words somewhere? Have I heard them spoken? I cannot recall, but I admit their truthfulness.

Immersed in thought, I have walked for at least an hour and reached the ancient mooring site. It is said that from this very shore Fingolfin’s host saw a red glare over the water and realized Fëanor’s treachery. Could it be true, I wonder? The coastline of Middle-earth has changed, and the roads over the Sea are bent. There is no telling what could and what could not have been seen over the water several thousand years ago. Still, it is strange to stand in such place – a place that has seen the unfolding of history.

One of the rainclouds has finally reached the shore. I take cover under the light shelter and watch the waves washing against the old pier. The pier is built of solid stone and probably has been white once, but years and ruthless sea-winds have roughened the stone to dull grey. Fog obscures its far end now, but in clear weather one can plainly see the outline of the Lonely Isle from there.

Tol Eressëa, the place from where white ships once set out to Númenor, Land of the Star, Land of the Gift, my brother’s dream… I shall be forever grateful that Elros saw only its beauty and majesty, that at the end of his years he went to rest with the hope of bright future for the place that had become his home. That he did not have the foresight of strife, smoke and flames and the terrible downfall ending with the great green wave that would diminish the fair island to little more than a lonely cliff amid a raging Sea. Tears sting my eyes. Brother mine, how I miss you still...

More sorrow. I draw my hand over my face. Why should I think only of those I am missing? Why cannot I rejoice in unexpected meetings with those I thought lost but now have found again? My parents. Celebrimbor, the fire of his spirit glowing even brighter than before. Gil-galad, unfettered by the threat of endless war. Maedhros.

The Elf running over the field with a kite line in his hand and two giggling children in tow trips over an uneven turf and lands in the grass. The spool falls from his fingers, and the line unwinds. The children, squealing, fall on top of him.

“Atto, Atto, you released the line!”

Laughing he rolls on his back and points towards the sky. “I sent the kite to meet Anar! I asked it to pass your greetings to the lady who steers the Sun-vessel.”

That is unmistakeably my uncle’s voice. But I had never heard Maedhros laughing like this.

The memory of that meeting after reaching Valinor is among my fondest, yet today it is clouded by something I cannot at first name. But when I do, smile slips from my lips and the grey landscape around takes on an even darker shade. I am used to look into hearts, including my own, and what I now see there is too close to envy. Am I so narrow-minded that the happiness of those dear to me can bring forth such shameful feelings?

If Celebrían was here with me now… she would know what to say, she would dispel the gloom with but a smile— 

I rise abruptly. So, I would make my ill temper my wife’s responsibility? How pitiful. It is time to return home, to do something meaningful. That book will not write itself. I turn back towards the house.

The rain has stopped. I have walked but a few hundred steps when a sudden breeze clears the fog. Clouds over the Sea break. A patch of blue sky appears, and rays of Sun glitter upon the water… and upon a white sail in the distance. This is strange. Very strange. No ships usually come so far north. There are no good fishing places; the old pier stands abandoned. Ever since we have had a house on this shore, not once have I seen a boat mooring there.

Yet this one, driven by favourable wind, is clearly heading towards the coast. My heart skips a beat as it approaches - not a fishermen’s boat, but one of the graceful grey vessels that sail from the havens of Endor. I turn back, walk to the end of the long pier and strain my vision.

The ship’s course is not particularly smooth; at whiles the sails flap, as the boat steers too close to the wind and catches breeze from the wrong side. It appears to be guided by inexperienced hands of a small crew. I see only two figures on the deck, one of them working the sails, the other steering. They are small and indistinct at first, but the boat is approaching swiftly, and when I catch a sight of dark hair, my heart leaps with a wild, sudden hope. Is it indeed possible, after the long years of waiting?

I stand frozen, heart pounding, eyes locked on the approaching vessel. How many times have I stood like this on the white stairs of Alqualondë? How many times have I retreated in the shadows with a heavy heart after those arriving from Endor have found welcome in the embrace of their loved ones? What if this time also… But no, after a moment there is no more doubt – my sons are aboard. They have come home, both of them. Thank you, Valar! The relief flooding me is so overwhelming that I sway, and the glitter on the water turns to a blur. Hastily I wipe away tears. It seems, if I turned away even for a heartbeat, the ship would disappear in the mist and I would remain alone on the weather- and time-beaten pier.  

“Greetings, friend! Would you give us hand in mooring?” Elladan is at the sails. His voice carries over the sound of the wind and the waves. With the Sun now at my back and my face in the shadow, they do not recognize me yet.

But then the Day-star disappears in the clouds.

“Father! Father!”

Elrohir starts waving so wildly that he releases the tiller. The boat keels for a moment, and only seizing the shrouds at the last moment saves his brother from falling overboard. They regain mastery over the boat and bring it to the pier. Although Elladan lowers the sails a bit too late and the prow of the boat collides with the mooring with greater speed than it should, no harm is done to the boat and the crew. With trembling hands I catch the line and tie it around the bollard. And then my sons leap from the deck and grip me in a crushing embrace, and all is lost in a torrent of laughter, sobs and broken words of greeting.

“Oh father, it has been so long…!”

“Elladan, Elrohir, how we have been waiting...!”

Relief and joy in my heart battle with overwhelming sadness. They are here, and it means that my daughter... and my foster-son...

“We brought you letters from Arwen and Estel,” Elladan whispers, sensing my sorrow. “Paintings of their children and of their home. They were such a happy family. And our sister... she was a great queen. You can be very proud of her, father.”

I pull them both closer. “I am very proud of her. But I am also very happy that you are home.”

In a few moments Elrohir raises an anxious gaze towards me. “Mother… how is she?”

His brother tightens his hold on my arm. With still slightly shaking hand I pull from my pocket a handkerchief and dry the tears that still glisten on their faces.

“Your mother is well. She is fully healed and will be overjoyed to see you. She is in Tirion now, but we can all ride there, to meet her.”

My sons exchange glances, and something passes between them, something I cannot read. A faint shadow of unease enters my heart. I survey them intently. “Is all well with you? You look weary.”

“All is well with us, father,” Elladan replies. “The seas were a bit rough. And considering our skill—”

“…considering our skill, we did brilliantly,” Elrohir interrupts him. “And that is what we shall tell everyone, brother.”

“Brilliantly indeed,” Elladan snorts. “What of our less-than-graceful mooring?”

“None needs to know that insignificant part of the journey. And father will not betray us.”

“I will not.” I laugh at their banter. “Why did you take this course though? This is, no doubt, a most happy meeting, but I am sure it would have been easier to steer for Avallonë on Tol Eressëa.”

Another silent exchange. They shift in their stance; Elrohir casts a glance at the boat. Elladan draws a deep breath.

“I think we were guided here,” he says. “Something happened ere we set out, and… we did not sail alone. You should come aboard, father.”

Elrohir

I exchange yet another worried glance with Elladan and lead the way into the small cabin. There is no change. Since the ship crossed the invisible boundary, the stranger has been sleeping calmly, free from nightmares and fits of pain.

A sudden flicker of alarm from Elladan makes me turn. Father has frozen amid the small space, staring at the sleeping Elf. Yet within heartbeats he draws a deep breath, takes a step towards the berth and kneels beside it.

“What happened to him?”

Father’s voice bears that deceptive calm he always assumes when things are dire, and the shadow of dismay on his face grows darker as he sets his fingers on stranger’s wrist to count the pulse.

“We pulled him from a pit after he had been beaten senseless by highway robbers. Broken wrist and ribs, dislocated shoulder, numerous bruises,” I list the injuries. “That was on the day before our departure. We could not leave him, and we could not tarry, for the weather was about to change for worse, so we took him with us.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing coherent. He was senseless when we found him and remained so while we treated his wounds. After that he ran a fever, oblivious where or with whom he was. Also, I tried to keep him asleep during the journey, to spare at least some discomfort, even though he calmed fully only when we turned upon the Straight Road.”

“I see.”

Do my eyes cheat me, or is it indeed relief on his face? But why would he be averse to us speaking with the strange Elf? I cast a glance at my brother. Elladan has that slight frown which always appears on his face when trying to solve some mystery. Yet the time for reflection is short. As soon as father has finished assessing the stranger’s condition, he rises with a short nod.

“Let us get him to the house. There I can look at his injuries more thoroughly.”

***

The house is very beautiful, built of wood and painted pale yellow, with intricate carvings adorning windows and doorframes. It stands in the middle of an orchard. The branches of fruit trees are full of flower-buds; within a day or two the garden will be in full bloom. 

We bring the stranger inside and lay him in bed in a room with white walls and large windows facing the garden. Elladan remains by the door.

“Tell me what you need, father, and where I can find it,” he says.

Having received directions, my brother shortly returns with warm water, bandages and father’s medicine bag. He stands for a while watching us with a frown.

“I cannot help you here. I will only be in the way.”

Saying that, he turns away abruptly and leaves the room. I am about to follow him, but father restrains me.

“I would be thankful for your help here,” he softly says.

And I stay, anxious to hear father’s judgement of the treatment I have given the stranger. Father likely senses my unease and lays a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“You have done very well, son. I already saw that.”

I breathe in relief, yet somewhere in the back of my mind remains a shadow of sadness. We could have done more, if only we could have worked together, my brother and I. Like we once did.

“You have done the best you could do,” father cuts off my unguarded thought firmly. “Considering circumstances, both of you have. I will not have you belittle your skill, Elrohir, for with it you surpass some who have great gift but less diligence.”

“Elladan would not have lacked diligence,” I reply and blink swiftly to dispel the prickling sensation in my eyes.

“No, he would not have,” father says quietly. “Still, it is as it is. He is not in this room now, but you are.”

One look at his face tells me he would say nothing more on the matter, so I turn back to tending stranger’s bruises, many of which have already healed. Father is looking to his more severe wounds. When he has finished examining the broken wrist, he turns to me.

“With how you splinted and treated his hand, the bones have already knit together.”

“Have they?” I fail to hold back a pleased smile.

The journey seems to have done no lasting damage, even though the strange Elf has not yet come to his senses. When the last bandage is in place, father squeezes my hand.

“Thank you, son. I will watch him for a while now. Go and take rest.”

I know a dismissal when I encounter one. Ere I close the door behind me, I look back. Father stands by the bed, his gaze fixed on the stranger. The set of his shoulders is rigid and his face bears that expression of mingled anger and sorrow I know so well, having seen it on every occasion when facing mindless cruelty. Yet there is something else this time too, something I cannot unravel. Questions are piling in my mind, and none of them has a satisfactory answer. I go to look for my brother.

I find Elladan in a spacious sitting room that likely serves as library as well – the walls are lined with tall bookshelves. My brother has lit fire in the large fireplace and sits, staring at the page of an open book on his knees, his face strangely blank. When I sink in a chair beside him, Elladan puts the book aside and raises his eyes.

“See, you did well enough without me.”

I glare at him. “Why are you acting like this? It hurts father!”

“I know and I am sorry.” He looks away for a moment. “The more sorry because it is all my fault,” he then states flatly.

“What?” The meaning of his last words eludes me completely. “What is your fault? Why? I am weary from the road, brother, so please, speak plainly.”

“Very well.” Elladan is tracing a carving on the armrest of his chair. “Had I been able to heal him in Endor, there would have been no need to take him here.”

“What is wrong with taking him here?” I shrug. “Surely, he has a better chance of recovery in Valinor. Besides, father seems to know him. Or at least something about him.”

“Oh, yes, father knows him!” My brother laughs a short, bitter laugh. “Do you not yet realize whom we have taken across the Sea?” When I merely stare at him, he shakes his head. “Indeed? Do try to put together the things you know. A Noldo, bearing the Light of the Two Trees. Mutilated hands. The profound distress his presence brings to father. Who could he be? Think!”

“I am in no mind for riddles,” I retort sullenly. “How would I know? Father did not address him by name.”

“I do not need a name to realize that we have brought to the Blessed Realm the last living son of Fëanor.”

“What?” With a gasp of horror, I spring to my feet. We know very little about father’s childhood, but there is more than enough in the history books to make my blood boil at the name. “Are you certain?”

“It is still a guess,” my brother replies. “But I am nearly certain.”

A cold fist closes around my heart. Everything Elladan has said makes sense. And if so... “Oh, what a profound mess have we created!” I rake my hand through my hair and start pacing the length of the room. “What a fateful mistake!”

“Fateful – I would agree with that. But not with the rest.”

I halt abruptly and turn towards the door where father stands, weary-faced, yet calm.

“Your guess hit the mark, but what you did was right.”

“Right?! We have brought under your roof one who killed your family and your people and then kidnapped you and your brother! And you say we did right?!”

Father sighs and sits down in the chair I had occupied but a while ago. He links together his fingers and observes his hands for a while, then looks up at me and my brother in turn.

“If there has been a mistake, then only from my part, in keeping silence,” he says at length. “Maedhros and Maglor did not kidnap my brother and me. They found us in a seaside cavern after the battle. Had they not come, we would have drowned in the high tide. Yes, they've killed.” He raises his hand to forestall my objections. “I do not deny or justify all the terrible things they did. They spilled the blood of the Elves, they drove our mother to despair. But they also took us in and gave us shelter and safety. They gave us home and education. And they loved us. Our childhood with them was not unhappy. If Maglor is here now, it is not against the will of the Valar. Do you think you would have been permitted on the Straight Road if it were?”

“Yes, but still…” I clench my hands in fists. Realization that we have brought home someone who has caused such profound misery to our people is too much for me. “How could you… why… I do not understand…” My voice trails away, and I resume pacing.

“Why I forgave our uncles? You see, we loved them, too. And we did not know the truth until the moment they sent us away. Then, my brother’s love turned into fury for he felt betrayed, robbed of all he had deemed worthy and noble. But I could find no anger in my heart, only grief. To be angry would have been just, and I long wondered - was I a traitor of my mother’s people? Was I weak?”

“I do not think so,” Elladan softly replies after a moment of silence. “Compassion and kindness are but another kind of strength.”

Father smiles sadly. “Círdan said the same.”

I halt, arms folded on my chest. “Why did you not tell us?”

“Why indeed?” He sighs. “Maybe I thought the past over and done with. When the War of Wrath started, they sent us away south to safety, to our mother’s people, and we never saw them again. After Morgoth’s fall we learned Maedhros had taken his own life. Later, there were rumours of a solitary wanderer singing by the waves. I've sought Maglor for years, but apparently, he did not want to be found, and at last I abandoned the effort. After the darkness of the Second Age and the war that ended it, we built a fragile peace. I wed with your mother. Then you, our wonderful children, were born, and we were so very happy, despite the ever-looming shadows. I am ashamed to say that, but, immersed in my happiness, I thought less and less of Maglor. He was a ghost of bygone days, a reminder of much I had left behind. But the past always finds us. To see him like he is now… What if I had been more persistent in my search? Could I have prevented this, could I have given the one who fostered me at least a semblance of home and peace? I do not know.”

Father falls silent. Outside, it has grown dark. Rain beats against the windowpanes. Fire is crackling in the hearth. My irritation has faded like morning mist, leaving sadness and compassion in its place. At last, Elladan breaks the silence.

“Tell us about your childhood with your uncles, father. Please.”

Father tears his gaze away from the flames. “Now? You have had no proper rest since you arrived. You should go to sleep.”

I exchange glances with my brother, then sit down on the hearthrug and lean against father’s chair. “Now. We are far too old to be sent off to bed, father. Consider it a bedtime story if you will.”

He laughs, and this time there is some true mirth in his laughter. “Oh, very well. You are also far too old to be carried to your beds, so blame yourselves if you end up sleeping here.”

Note. I use the version where Fëanor's sons find Elrond and Elros in a cave, not kidnap them. Thus, this story is consistent with my previous ones, "The Brink", "The Stronghold" and "Adrift".

Maglor

The Sea… I must have reached it, for there is sound of the waves and cries of the seabirds. In a sudden flash of clarity, I remember who and what I am, but nothing of that any longer matters. I know why I sought the Sea. I will surrender my breath and my body to the waves. The Sea will take the pain, the regret, the inconsolable grief. It will take everything.  

But I do not find strength even for opening my eyes and looking at the wide expanse of water. I am shivering; my chest is burning, my arm and shoulder are throbbing. Maybe after a short rest the pain will retreat a little, and I will be able to rise and take those final steps. Just a short rest… The cries of the seabirds fade away.

I wake to a rolling, heaving motion. At each toss pain shoots through me in blinding flashes. Where am I? For a moment I discern an indistinct outline of wooden beams, but even the meagre light hurts my eyes and I squeeze them shut again. Voices assail me in the darkness, cold, cruel voices, and there is no escape from the accusations they throw at me. Murderer. Traitor. Coward. I am them all, and I have neither right to plead for mercy, nor strength to do so. Another heave, another flash of agony. Is this what dying feels like? I am falling in a cold roaring abyss, and all fades to darkness.

The rhythm of my own breath. The scent of healing herbs. Sound? Smell? Why are these sensations still here? The fog lifts a bit more. I live. I am not a disembodied spirit.

Slowly I open my eyes. Golden glow enfolds me. I lie in a bed, a light blanket drawn up to my chest. In a flash, everything comes back. The brigands. The fight. King’s soldiers. My left hand closes over my right and finds the ring in its place. My ruined fingers, long bereft of finer sense of touch, can still discern the contrast between the solid and smooth surface of the golden band and the finger it rests upon. Someone has apparently saved me. But... what of the Sea?

The door opens. I turn my head and focus my gaze on the one who stands on the threshold. Who…? I stop breathing. Beyond the strong, beautiful, unmistakeably Noldorin features I recognize the child I once knew.

We stare at each other. These grey eyes once looked upon me with caution, then – with trust, and finally – with love. Now… I try to unravel their expression.

“Do not pity me!”

Elrond flinches as my voice erupts from beneath the layers of frozen silence. What impression must the harsh and rasping sounds have on him, who likely remembers the songs and the music that once were part of me?

“It is good to see you awake.” A moment later the shadow departs from Elrond’s face. He sits beside me and lays his hand on my misshapen fingers. “I have been looking for you,” he softly says. “For a long time. And I very much regret my search was vain. If I had found you... this would not have happened.”

I should find words of gratitude and kindness, I should say I am glad to see him—

…but instead, I jerk away. “I need not your pity and your care!” My heart harbours neither kindness, nor gratitude. I am like one of those rocks that have once been smooth, but wind and sand have withered away all softer bits leaving only sharp edges that hurt the hand that touches them. “I did not want to be found! I did not ask you to save me! You should have sailed! You should have left this Valar-forsaken shore! Leave me alone!”

Elrond pales and draws back his hand. “I am a healer. I cannot leave alone someone who is hurt and suffering,” he softly replies. “And… I sailed. We are in Valinor, Maglor. My sons found you gravely injured not far from Mithlond. They took you here, on a ship from Endor.”

“Go away!”

My voice is no more than a grating, pitiful whisper. Yet I am shaking with anger, and were I strong enough, I would strike him. Probably Elrond reads the threat in my eyes. After a short hesitation he rises and leaves the room. I press my face into the pillow. Valinor…

A strangled sob escapes my lips. That instead of finally finding peace under the waves, I should come here where even the air reminds of everything I have forever lost… what a cruel turn of fate! Why? Why?

Elrond returns to tend my injuries, to bring me a meal I do not touch. When he speaks to me, I turn away. I feel… cheated. Bereft of hope for release from memories and pain I have harboured for centuries. I harden my heart and hide behind a mask of icy silence, and he abandons the attempt of conversation with a resigned sigh.                                                                            

The journey must have taken a good while, or else I have slept long, for my injuries are almost healed. Despite still feeling weak, I can move my left arm again. Most of the bruises have faded, broken bones have mended, and breathing is no longer painful. The very air of Valinor has power to heal, but to what purpose? I am a dark stain upon the face of this pure and beautiful land. The marks of my crimes I still bear in my heart and on my hands. I lie still staring at the hideous scars on my palms and fingers, the reminder of my sins. Traitor. Murderer. Wicked. Ungrateful. I squeeze shut my eyes. Oh, how I hate all my choices, how I hate myself!

In the evening, I turn away from the sleeping draught Elrond brings me. Untroubled rest is a blessing I do not deserve. In strange spitefulness, after a day filled with loathing, I welcome nightmares of blood and battles and that one recurring dream, the most terrible of them all.

Pale face and copper hair bearing reflection of red glow. Dull, lifeless eyes. Voice, devoid of hope. The last flash of light… and silence. In my dream I am always close enough to see my brother taking the step over the edge of the fire-filled crevice, and always complete silence falls afterwards. I wonder if it happened thus. I vaguely recall running, stumbling over boulders, screaming on top of my voice, falling to my knees by the chasm, staring down in the flaming depths… but now, ages later, I am no longer sure of my memory. Maybe I did reach the place too late. Maybe I stood by and did nothing. Maybe I pushed Maedhros in. In the dream I have seen hundreds, maybe thousands times, I have done all these things.

Tonight, I am late. When all grows still and quiet and the thread that bound me to the last one of my brothers is severed, I am more than hundred paces from the crevice. I cry out in despair, but there is no sound. I weep, but a scorching wind dries my tears. Alone. I am alone in the night.

Drawing a shuddering breath, I open my eyes. A ceiling. A room. A bed. I am not on the fiery plain before the walls of Angband but far away in space and time from the gaping fissures.

The door is half-open. Elrond stands there, leaning against the doorframe. Our eyes briefly meet, then I turn away. Moments later, the door closes with a soft click. Candle casts a flickering glow on the walls.

But light from the outside cannot banish the darkness that festers within.

It is time to break the circle of suffering I cause to those who love me.

***

It is still dark when I leave the room and freeze in the hallway, listening for voices, for approaching feet. All is quiet. I take a cautious step, then another. Even the small effort of dressing has exhausted me and I am slow, but at length I stand before what looks like a front door. Breath catching in my throat, I press the handle.

An orchard lies in front of me, on either side of the path. Gentle fragrance rises in the air. Branches stir in the wind, cherry blossoms flutter in the air like snowflakes. Above the pale clouds of the fruit trees stretches starlit night sky. A snow-tipped mountain range looms in the distance, and after surveying the peaks for a while, I recognize their shape. I know where I am. And I know where I must go.

I step down the porch, leave the path and make haste to fade in the shadows of the trees, but soon stumble and halt, leaning against a gnarled stem, short of breath, heart pounding.  I cannot travel that distance on foot; my strength will not last even a mile. Despairing, I shiver in the cold night air. But then the breeze brings scents and sounds from the far side of the garden, and I sigh in relief. I may yet reach my destination.

The air in the stable feels warm after the chill outside. Horses, wary of a stranger, snort and whinny softly, but I have always been good with horses and I quickly placate them. When I ask one of them to bear me, a grey-coated mare stands still for a while quietly breathing on my cheek, then gently prods my shoulder and follows me outside.

I lose no time searching for saddle and tack, but ride bareback hoping that my strength will suffice to the journey’s end. My trembling hands are clutching tight the horse’s mane as the world rushes by. Struggling to remain astride, I note only bits and pieces of the road. The clean and crisp air. The silver shadows on the grass.

The dark outline of the stone seats of Ezellohar looms before me when my steed halts and I slide off its back. My knees buckle, so that I must steady myself against the horse.

“Thank you, friend,” I whisper releasing the patient beast. “Go home now. I will not need another ride. Go.” The mare walks a few steps, then halts, looks at me over her shoulder and starts nibbling grass. I sigh. “Do what you will. I cannot make you.”

It takes a while ere I gather enough courage to approach the Ring of Doom. Stars fade. Pale light of dawn colours the eastern sky. First shafts of sunlight appear over the mountains, and the snowy peaks glimmer in pink and golden hues. I draw a deep breath, turn away from the fair sight that is to be my last of this world, pass between the stone columns and sink to my knees amid the circle.

I do not know how much time passes ere they appear. Heartbeats? Hours? Days? A year? Time stands still in this place; the world outside no longer matters. I kneel on the ground unmoving, with downcast eyes until I feel – I am no longer alone. The air is humming with divine presence.

I look up. Only four seats are taken. Manwë sits beside his spouse. On their right is Námo, on their left – Ulmo. I should not be surprised. Long enough my presence has defiled the shores of his realm.

“Declare yourself and your case.” The voice of the Elder King is wind and thunder. His blue eyes seem to be looking right into my heart.

Fear chains my limbs and seals my lips, but some remnant of the former pride, some spark of a long-extinguished fire flares up briefly, and I find my voice.

“I am Canafinwë Makalaurë Fëanárion. I have come to accept the judgement of the Valar. To give up my life in atonement for my crimes.”

“What crimes?”

“Disobedience and blasphemy. Betrayal of kin. Murder.” Why do they ask? All this they know.

“Speak them.” I look around, but meet only expectant eyes, impassive faces. “Your crimes. Speak them,” Manwë repeats.

If they indeed wish to bestow upon me this last torment, so be it! I clench my fists and recite them all, from joining my father’s Oath and first drawing of my sword in Alqualondë to the avalanche of disastrous decisions that followed. Kindling the torch at Losgar. Leaving my brother in the hands of the Enemy. Waging a futile war that took the lives of my people. Attacking my kin in Doriath and Sirion. Killing the guards in Eönwë’s camp and stealing the Silmarils. Last of all, killing that outlaw over a piece of gold. I speak all this and loathe myself. My voice is grating like stone upon stone, so unlike what it once was, and I am so unlike who I once was… I fall silent and close my eyes. A fitting end.

“Why are you not looking?”

I draw a shuddering breath. I can do this. I have seen death. I have dealt death. Surely I can meet my own end with open eyes. I am not afraid. I am not—

I am shaking. My breath comes in gasps as the piercing eyes survey me.

“Please…” I can hardly force the words from my lips. “Let it be quick.”

Námo leans forward. “What, Makalaurë?” Likely he reads the reply in my mind, for he frowns and shakes his head. “We cannot take what you offer. Your life is the gift of the One. Only He has the right to withdraw it from you. As for the judgement – you have judged and punished yourself long and harshly enough. There is no other penance we would have you serve. From our part, you are forgiven.”

Frozen in horror, I stare at the Judge. Forgiven...? To linger in Arda, to face days, months, years of guilt and regret... No!

“I do not deserve to be forgiven. I do not deserve life. And this is no life anyway but an endless torment. Please... end this misery. I beg you!”

But as my gaze shifts from one timeless face to another, hope for peace grows faint, and the words of the Elder King put it out entirely.

“It is neither in our authority, nor in our power to grant such requests, Child of the One,” says Manwë. “As Námo already said – life and death rest in the hand of Ilúvatar. And we have no reason to punish you further. All crimes you recounted to us you have regretted.”

“And your repentance is true.” Ulmo’s voice is like waves crashing on the coastal cliffs. “My waters still carry the echo of your songs.”

I hide my face in my ruined hands. All songs are broken, all melodies have unravelled, their strands faded, drowned in the mire of grief. Repentance will not restore them.

“Why do you wish for death so?”

It is a voice full of gentle compassion. Yet I dare not look up.

“I… fear death. But I do not know how to keep living,” at length I whisper with trembling lips. “I do not know what to live for. Once, I had hope. Now there is only despair. Once, everything was music to me. Now… now it is gone. Music is gone.”

There. I have admitted it at last, I have said it aloud. Music is gone. My hands, once able to lure the sweetest sounds from a harp, are crippled, my voice, unused for centuries, is flat and harsh.  I know I played and sang once. But now I cannot recall even the simplest melody. And, while my hearing is as sharp as ever, patterns that once connected all sounds around me in intricate themes are lost.

“That is not true.” Light steps fall on the pavestones. Strong, yet gentle arms pull me to my feet, and I raise my gaze towards the Lady of Stars. Her face glimmers like Moon on a cloudless night, her eyes are clear and radiant. She is holding my hands; her fingers are cool and soft against mine. “The music is all around you still. You just have to listen more closely,” Varda says. “Listen closely, Makalaurë.”

She brushes a light kiss on my brow, and they all vanish. The stone seats are empty.

Scraping together the last bits of my strength, I stagger out of the Ring of Doom. The Sun burns high above in the unclouded sky. Red mist blurs my vision. My legs are no longer able to support my shaking body, and I collapse on the ground. For a brief while I cling to consciousness, to the words of the Valar about hope, about forgiveness. I try to push myself up on my hands; small pebbles and stalks of grass are pressing into my palms… but then the world slides back into the abyss of despair. I cannot do this. I have not the strength. There is but one last path left for me.

***

I am burning. Fire spreads from my scorched hands to my entire body. A few moments more, and I will wither away, a dry leaf in a firestorm. Did I run back to the crevice where my brother ended his life, and now the same flames are peeling flesh from my bones? But it cannot be. Centuries, no, ages have passed since then, and those lands lie under the wave. I was seeking the Sea; why am I burning now?

A fleeting relief, a cool breeze is caressing my brow. I am thirsty… so thirsty… water trickles past my dry, chipped lips… but I have not the strength to swallow it. Something… someone… lifts me up; there is water again, but this time a light brush on my throat helps me swallow some of the precious drops. Still… it is so much effort. Everything is so much effort, even breathing. I am so weary, more than weary. I am falling apart, piece by piece.

“I will not let you go.”

I do not recognize the quiet grief-laden voice, but I vaguely realize I am the cause of this grief. I must have said something cruel, done something wrong… I should ask forgiveness, I should make it right… but I cannot speak, cannot move, cannot even look. The nothingness creeps closer and closer. Too late. The last flickering remnant of my strength is to go out any moment with my failing breath. Too late.

“Stay.”

Spoken by the same quiet voice, this is not a plea but a command. Strong arms close around me. Another fëa finds mine and holds it fast, strengthens its unravelling link with my body. The nearly extinguished flame flares up, and with a gasp I open my eyes.  

The room with white-washed walls looks vaguely familiar… Candles cast a soft light on the walls. I am sitting upright in a bed, leaning against someone supporting me. This someone is likely the source of the voice I heard before, someone with a spirit so kind and beautiful that tears blur my vision… Who…? Where…? My thoughts move as if through deep water, slow and confused, but I am no longer hovering on the edge of nothingness. Rim of a cup touches my lips. I drink deeply, then allow my head to sink back on the shoulder of the one holding me. I should do or say something, but I cannot remember what… and I am still so tired. My eyes stray out of focus and drift shut.

“Rest now.” Whoever is holding me, now lowers me gently on the bed. Bereft of the comforting touch, I stir with a soft whimper of disappointment. The touch is back in a heartbeat, a firm hold on my hand. “Sleep. I will stay with you.”

There is a link between us, a thread along which peace and strength are slowly trickling into my fëa. The voice starts singing softly. This is wrong. I should be the one to sing, to offer comfort… should I not? But I am too tired to deal with the twisted reality. I allow the song to carry me to the world of dreams.

Elladan

Golden light falls through the canopy of trees. Horse-hooves clatter on the white stones of the road. The air is clear and sweet after the night rain; a gentle breeze carries fragrance of spring flowers. This place – Valinor - feels like Imladris and Lothlorien put together and magnified at least tenfold. I should be tired after the voyage and last night spent in conversation, yet I am not, not the tiniest bit. I cast a glance at my brother. Elrohir is looking around, eyes wide, and suddenly he throws back his head and laughs – a sound of unrestrained mirth, of pure joy. 

“It is so easy to be glad in a place like this.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” I smile and agree, pushing back the faint unease that has been gnawing at me ever since we left the house by the Sea. Ever since we left father alone with the stranger. No, not with a stranger, I remind myself. With a kinsman he trusts. There is no reason for my worry.

The road winds up and down, then passes around a cliff, and suddenly trees come to an end. Elrohir gasps. I check my steed to a halt and sit frozen, staring at the snow-tipped mountain range, higher than any I have seen in Endor. At the valley with fields bright green with new corn and meadows scattered with spring flowers. At the white city nestled amid the shoulders of the mountains, gleaming in the rays of afternoon Sun, its towers reaching towards the sky. Beside it, even Minas Tirith would seem small and plain.

“Let us go on.” Elrohir touches my arm. “I cannot wait to see the city closer.” His eyes shine in excitement.

We dismount before the wide gates and enter on foot, leading our horses beside us, staring at the buildings and gardens interspersed in-between. There are many people about, but the wide streets do not feel crowded even for a moment. Most houses are built of white stone, slender carved columns adorn the entrances, inlays of stained-glass grace the upper parts of the tall windows - clear signs of Noldorin craftsmanship everywhere. An entire city of this beauty, not merely a few buildings. 

“It was worth coming here, if only for this sight alone,” Elrohir murmurs. “Just look at that arch! And those window-frames! And…oh, that fountain yonder…!”

I smile. My brother and buildings... Once, he covered every scrap of paper with sketches of columns, windows, stairways... until he no longer did.

We try to recall father’s directions to the city house, but soon we are utterly and hopelessly lost amid the winding streets and flower-laden courtyards. At last, there is nothing for it than to ask directions.

The Elf we stop with our inquiry looks at us closely, perhaps intrigued by the strangeness of our speech, but after telling us the road he gives us another close look.

“You are lord Elrond’s sons, are you not?”

“Indeed.” Elrohir flashes a smile. “Do you know our father?”

“Yes, I have the honour.” He inclines his head. “It is good you are here. He was waiting for you… for a long time.”

As he bows swiftly and leaves, I try to unravel the meaning and tone of his words. Reproach? No, not that. Relief, more likely. Now I regret we did not ask the stranger’s name.

“Elladan?” My brother’s tone is slightly worried. “What are you thinking about?”

“I wonder…” I tear my gaze away from the Elf’s retreating figure. “Maybe we tarried too long in Endor.”

“But we could not… Not before Arwen...” Elrohir’s voice breaks. He draws a shuddering breath. “We cannot change the past. Come, let us go and see Nana.”

I nod. He is right. I know he is right. But still…

The house we have been directed to stands slightly apart from the others. A large garden, stretching back for at least hundred paces, encloses it. Marble walls gleam in the sunlight, stained-glass inlays of the windows cast colourful sparks on a pebble-strewn path and lawn. But the lawn is rather a meadow of wildflowers, with bluebells swaying in a breeze, with white star-like blossoms twinkling in-between. Low, freely growing bushes along the paths bloom golden. I exchange glances with Elrohir. This wild beauty, this seemingly untamed loveliness clearly speaks of our mother’s touch.

At the door my brother suddenly grips my hand. “I am afraid.”

I am, too. But ere I overcome my own anxiety and find words to reassure him, the door opens. At the sight of us, the dark-haired woman on the threshold clasps together her hands. She pulls us inside the hall with no greetings at all.

“Lady Celebrían! Lady Celebrían! You must come at once!”

Footsteps sound on the tiles, faster and faster, and then in a flash of silver our mother is running, no, flying down the wide stairway.

“Elladan! Elrohir!”

Her voice is clear and glad, nothing like the broken whispers of before. Within heartbeats she has reached us and gathered us in embrace.

“Nana! Naneth!”

All former worry dissolves in a wave of immense relief. We are home. And mother is well again. I cling to her and hide my tear-stained face on her shoulder.

“At last,” she whispers, holding us, stroking our hair. “How we were waiting…”

Grief and guilt stab my heart, and my brother mirrors the feelings. He raises his eyes. “But it is only us, Naneth. Arwen… she… she is…”

As Elrohir’s voice trails away, mother’s lips tremble and tears gather in her eyes.

“I understand,” she softly says. “I understand. But you are home, and it is not only you. Do not say so.” She pulls us closer again. “And I want to believe that… your sister was happy.”

“Yes, she was,” I whisper. “She was very, very happy. And very much loved.”

Mother brushes away tears. “I am glad. Later you will tell me about her life. About her family. But first I would hear about you and your journey. And also…” A worried frown creases her brow. “I would have you tell me why your father did not come together with you. Is he well?”

“Father is well, Nana,” Elrohir reassures her. “There were circumstances that prevented him from traveling now. In truth, they are related to our journey.” He casts a pleading glance at me, clearly expecting me to continue.

“Elrohir is right,” I say, slightly vexed. Why must I be the one to always explain everything? “We brought a gravely injured Elf from Endor. Father is tending him now, but he did not wish to keep us from meeting you.”

Mother shakes her head and smiles. “That is your father all over.”

She obviously finds the explanation sufficient. But unease in my heart grows. We should tell her everything – who the stranger is and how we found him. My brother freezes. I meet his eyes, slightly wide in alarm, and nod curtly. I will keep silent, for the sake of the promise father extracted from us ere we left. To spare Naneth worry, so he said. But I cannot banish the feeling of wrongness.

I make an effort to conceal it. I talk and laugh, and probably even succeed in convincing mother and Elrohir of my good mood for a while. But after dinner, as we sit in the spacious living room and stars alight in the sky outside, the unease creeps back with a renewed force. Half-heartedly I listen to my brother who is chatting about everything we have seen so far, jumping from topic to topic without any effort as is his wont when he is at ease and happy. After a breathlessly delivered piece about the buildings we have seen in Tirion he falls silent.

“What do you think, Naneth,” he asks a bit hesitantly after a while, “is there a possibility I might study architecture? Would someone agree to teach me?”

“Oh, certainly,” mother replies with a smile. “Your great-grandfather has planned entire districts of the city, this house included.”

“Our great-grandfather… Finarfin, the King of the Noldor?” Elrohir asks, eyes wide.

“The very same. I have told him you have always been interested in buildings, and he is eager to meet you. I am sure he will teach you if you are willing.”

“Thank you, Nana! Thank you!” Elrohir breathes, throwing his arms around mother’s neck.

I should be glad of the glow of happiness on his face. The envy and resentment rising within me are so petty, so unbecoming, so despicable. I fight them with all my strength, I shield them away, I put a smile on my face and turn towards my brother to say something of an encouragement, and then…

…and then mother takes my hand, she takes Elrohir’s hand and looks at us both gravely.

“Here, you can be whoever you wish to be,” she says with quiet conviction. “You can choose any path you like. Of course, you know so much already. You know everything your father has taught you. And as trained healers, you both—”

The room darkens before my eyes as my feigned composure shatters. I jerk away my hand.

“No!”

Is it indeed my voice, so sharp and cold? I feel my brother’s silent plea, but I no longer care. I no longer have the strength to keep my despair contained.

“Not both of us are healers. Only Elrohir is. I abandoned the studies.”

Mother looks at me with wide, frightened eyes. “But… your gift, Elladan…”

Smothered by another wave of cold fury, I rise. “My gift is gone, mother. It burned to ash in flames of hate. It drowned in Orc-blood.”

The front door behind me slams shut. I stride past the reflections of warm light pooling under the windows, away from the house, deeper into the garden. Oh, to find a place as dark as my thoughts, to fade in the shadows! But here, even darkness is beautiful and pure, and shadows fold around me like soft veils. There is no blending in, no shelter. This fair land has laid bare my heart in all its hideous deformity.

Pale stone looms before me – walls of a garden pavilion. I pass inside, sink on a bench by the wall and press my cheek to a slender column supporting the roof. The stone is cool against my burning skin, a solid, calming presence, but I desire no comfort, no reassurance. I deserve none. I squeeze shut my eyes.

“Brother?” Elrohir enters the pavilion and sits down on the bench beside me.

“Leave me.” I try to shake his hand off my shoulder.

“No. I will not let you suffer like this, not alone.”

“You need not suffer with me. You have a chance to start anew.” Tears burn behind my eyelids. “Go. Do it. Learn. Pursue your dreams. You, at least, are no disappointment to our parents and our kin. While I… I am nothing but a failure.”

“You are not a failure.” My brother tightens his grip.

“Would you tell me the truth if I were?” When he does not reply at once, I utter a bitter laugh. “I thought so. Go away. I am sick of your pity. I do not know why I sailed. You were right, I considered staying in Endor. Not because of my love of it, but because of… this. My… deficiency. And I should have remained. I have no place here.”

“Do not be a fool.” Elrohir grips my shoulders and turns me to face him. His eyes glint in the twilight. “Where else is your place if not here? You say you hesitated. Maybe, but you did not stay. You came with me. You are here now.”

“Yes, and for what?” I grit my teeth. “I cannot see any purpose in this. What if this is just a cruel joke of the Valar?”

“The Valar are not cruel. Maybe there is no other purpose than for us to be together again.”

I turn abruptly at the sound of that soft voice. Our mother stands amid the columns, her hair shining silver in the deep twilight. Sadness lines her eyes, and suddenly my heart grows cold. My words earlier, they must have sounded like… accusation to her. I pull free from my brother’s arms, rise and take a hesitant step towards my mother. And another one. And then I drop to my knees before her and lower my eyes.

“Naneth, please, forgive me.” I can hardly keep my voice steady. “Please, do not take my words amiss. They were cruel and inconsiderate. None of this is your fault. Merely my own failures and shortcomings.”

Mother kneels beside me on the floor and draws me in embrace. “A grieving, wounded heart is neither a failure, nor a shortcoming,” she says softly. “What happened? Why did you abandon studies?”

In halting words, I force out my story of hatred, vengeance and bereavement.

“It was less than a year after you left, Nana. We hunted Orcs often those days, sometimes just us, sometimes together with the Dúnedain. In early autumn we went on one such hunt again, and a company of Men joined us. Their chieftain was there, and both his sons, the youngest of them little more than a boy. The sad fate of Men in Endor - to learn to wield weapons and spill blood early.

“When we encountered the beasts, I… lost all restraint. A battle-frenzy took me, such as I had never known before. I not merely killed them, I… hacked them to pieces. When the fight was over, the ground ran with blood, and everyone was staring at me with fear, even Elrohir. Nothing was said though. We turned towards home, as several of the Men were gravely injured.

“In Imladris, I took upon myself the care of chieftain’s youngest son. But I could not help him. I could no longer reach his fëa, neither to assess the severity of his wounds, nor to strengthen him. If not for our father, the boy would have died. Because of me. Because I had destroyed my healer’s gift… with hatred and bloodshed.” I bury my tear-stained face on mother’s shoulder.

“So that is what happened then.” Elrohir’s voice is shaken. In a moment a second pair of arms enfolds me.

“Was your father not able to help you?” mother asks gently.

“I did not tell him,” I whisper. “I did not explain anything to anyone. I simply… I walked out of the sickroom and did not return. Father likely suspected. But I refused to speak about that when he asked. We did not speak much at all… those days.”

Even the memory of the bleak despair after mother’s departure sends a shudder through me. Elrohir’s hot-headed anger and my own cold fury. Arwen’s tears and the silent relief in father’s eyes seeing us return alive from yet another bloody skirmish. Even conversations with my brother too often ended in a stream of accusations we threw at each other, and when father interfered, we both turned against him, united in our misery. But father, pale and silent, merely listened. He did not reproach us even once. My face burns with shame as I recall it.

“Oh, child…” Mother pulls me closer. “Grief drives us to say things we do not mean, to do things we afterwards regret. But wind sweeps away the clouds, and Sun shines the brighter after the storm. Those sorrows are all in the past.”

“What future is there for me, Nana? I have squandered my gift, my opportunity of doing what I love most. The only thing I ever truly wanted.”

“You may have any future you wish,” she says quietly, stroking my hair. “You have squandered nothing. Your father… You know him as lore master and healer, but for most of the Second Age he was a warrior. After the War of the Last Alliance, he returned to Imladris deeply wounded. In spirit. For years, he did not heal anyone. He… could not. But all things pass.” Mother sighs. “You are so much like him, Elladan. You must believe in yourself. And you must believe yourself worthy of care and healing.”

***

My sleep is peaceful, untroubled by dark dreams that have haunted me so often of late. After watching for a while the slowly growing light, I rise and dress, rested and refreshed. The windows of my room look to the garden and beyond it – towards the mountains, now clad in veils of morning mist. A faint tint of colour appears in the brightening sky. The distant snows on the high slopes kindle with the reflection of rose and purple. A flock of white birds crosses my line of sight, their feathers shimmering in the hues of approaching sunrise. Hands resting on the windowsill, I watch the unfolding of a peaceful morning. There is hope. Even as mother yesterday said, they can help me in Lórien. And if so… I draw a deep breath to contain my rising excitement. If so, then there is still that path I deemed lost, and I might—

A click of the door handle and soft steps on the carpet pull me from thoughts. I turn towards my brother. Elrohir, too, is fully dressed, but, contrary to me, he does not look rested. Yet he waves away my flash of concern and comes to stand beside me.

“I could not sleep tonight,” he says softly after a while. “I had to think. And I very much regret I was so inconsiderate. I did not realize… I did not understand what it meant to you – to be forced to give up the only thing you cared so much about. Because for me… it is different. Maybe I simply do not feel as deeply as you do. Or maybe… maybe I have never desired anything as badly as you desire to be a healer. I am truly sorry.”

“Do not be.” I shake my head. “You probably always wanted to draw houses as much as I wanted to heal people, but you accepted the circumstances, while I raged against them. You are wiser than I am; it is as simple as that. No, do not argue; you are too wise for that, too.”

The jest is half-hearted, but still smile dawns on Elrohir’s face. “Shall we then say that we are both either wise or foolish and cease this argument?”

“Gladly, brother. Gladly.”

We watch the dawning day. Elrohir stands still as a statue beside me, and I sense in him an echo of the fear he admitted carrying ere we took the ship. I turn towards him.

“What I said yesterday – that was not true. Staying in Endor was never a possibility for me. Even less so after I saw him. Maglor. That senseless suffering for ages… I could not bear it.”

Elrohir clasps my hand. “I wonder if he thought his suffering senseless,” he says after a moment of silence. “He may have seen it as just, and his lingering in Endor - as a penance.” And then, in his usual quicksilver way he changes the topic. “I know it is still early, but... shall we go and raid the kitchen?”

I laugh and allow him to pull me along.

We find no food, or rather, we find no chance to look for it. On our way we encounter Sírillë, the dark-haired housekeeper who opened us the door yesterday. Hearing of our quest, she laughs, leads us to the kitchen and within moments contrives a generous breakfast.

Mother joins us shortly, and we sit together long, speaking and remembering.  We tell her of Arwen and of her life in Gondor. We tell of Arwen’s family. Of her children and their antics, of her husband, the brother who was together with us for so short a time, though his years were long in the reckoning of Men. We cry a little, remembering them all, and mother cries a bit more, listening about the lives of those who are now lost to us until the end of Arda. Calm sadness lingers in the wake of these tears, but the overwhelming grief has faded. This is the way of the world – growing, blossoming and fading, and each race has a different path. Everything passes.

We walk in the garden afterwards, listening to mother’s stories of her life here, of our relatives we are soon to meet, of places of wonder Valinor harbours. Elrohir ticks off those he most wishes to see, but soon runs out of fingers on both his hands. I make no list. Not yet. My first journey will be to the Gardens of Lórien.

Yet as the day nears noon, I notice mother occasionally frowning and looking somewhere in the distance. At whiles, she misses what we are telling her. As we sit at our midday meal, I see her pushing her food around on the plate rather than eating it. The unease that assailed me yesterday returns with a new force, and at last I am no longer able to keep silent. 

“Something is bothering you, Nana. What is it?”

“For some reason, I worry about your father,” she admits.  “So foolish. This is not the first time when he is away, when he is tending someone. Moreover, you said that the Elf was already getting better when you left. So... it is probably nothing.”

My anxiety grows worse. Our mother’s premonitions are not to be taken lightly. I decide in a heartbeat.

“Mother... there is something we did not tell you.” I look at my brother. Elrohir flinches, but then nods in agreement. “Father is not tending a stranger. He asked us not to say, lest you worry needlessly, but... we brought from Middle-earth Maglor Fëanorion. We ourselves learned that only later.”

Mother pales and springs to her feet. “You should have told me at once!”

“Is he... dangerous?” Elrohir clenches his fists.

“Maglor? No! But if he gets worse, Elrond will do anything to save him. Anything! We must ride home with all haste!”

She runs to the stables, and shortly we are galloping over the green fields enclosing Tirion.

The world rushes by, and the fair road, previously a source of delight, now feels far too long. The cold fist of fear tightens around my heart as mother’s face grows more and more worried with each passing moment. I should have listened to my senses. I should have spoken earlier. What if something terrible happens? I grip tighter the bridle and vainly try to chase away visions of every possible disaster.

The road that previously took us more than half a day we measure in less than four hours, and ride into the yard under bright afternoon Sun. Mother jumps from her horse and runs inside.

“Elrond!”

We follow her closely. There is no reply, no sound. The house stands eerily silent. As we throw open the door to the sick room, mother screams – a wordless, anguished wail that freezes my blood. Maglor is abed, asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly. Father lies on the floor, face pale, eyes closed. If there is breath, I do not see it.

“Father!” Elrohir drops to his knees beside him. After a few moments he turns towards us, eyes wide. “He is alive, but barely. I have not the strength to reach him! Elladan, you must...”

My heart grows cold. I take a step back, furiously shaking my head. I cannot!

“You have to try, Elladan! I am too weak, and there is no one else! There is no other way! Please!” Elrohir’s voice breaks.

Everything goes still around me. I see them all as if through a thick wall of glass. Father's prone figure. Mother leaning against the wall, her clenched fist gripping the fabric of her dress, her features frozen in a mask of despair. My brother’s shaking frame, tears streaming over his face. I have been cut off from my gift for so long, and I never had a full training. What if I make some fateful mistake? What if I make everything worse? What if I simply fail?

But we are running out of time, and my fear of failure, no less than the failure itself, will cost father’s life.

I make that one step, maybe the hardest one I have ever made. Kneeling on the floor, I take father’s cold hand in mine and reach for his fëa, a mere flicker somewhere in the darkness, far, far away. I strive to get closer. At first, it is like beating against a stone wall with my bare hands, but I clench my teeth and persist. Again. And again. And again.

The wall shatters.

Maglor

I wake to the touch of something soft and cool to my face. Fresh fragrance drifts in the air. Opening my eyes no longer feels like an impossible effort.

“Kingsfoil.” A silver-haired lady withdraws her hand with the infusion-soaked cloth. “It will strengthen you.”

Still in the haze of sleep, I look around. I know the place, the white-walled room in the house among the cherry trees. But something is missing. No, not something. Someone. I sit up, a knot of worry building in my chest. Where…

The lady must have perceived my distress, for she now lays a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Worry not, he is resting. I am Celebrían, Elrond’s wife. Are you feeling better?”

I nod. I am still weak and dazed, but the terrifying sensation of fading into nothingness is gone. I rest against the cushions lady Celebrían has piled behind me and watch her arranging blankets, pouring water in a cup. When she has done that, she sits still for a moment and regards me closely. Then she smiles.

“You do look better.” Lady Celebrían puts the cup in my hands and rises. “I must leave you for a while now, but I will send my son to see how you fare, and Elrond will come as soon as he is able.”

I should thank her, but the thought of frightening the lady with my voice seals my lips, so I merely nod again. She smiles once more, a warm, kind smile, and I follow her with my eyes as she leaves. I am still gripping the cup; the metal feels cool and slightly damp…

With a gasp I sit up. The cup falls from my hand and rolls clattering over the floor; the water spills. And I stare at the smooth skin on my palms creased only by thin lines, I flex my trembling fingers, now straight again, then trace them over my wrist, over the blood vessels, and I feel them pulsing beneath my fingertips… The burns are gone, and I can feel again. Tears rise to my eyes. I can feel. The Lady of Stars held my hands, she—

The door opens.

 “Are you unwell?”

I brush away tears. The Elf must be Celebrían and Elrond’s son, for he bears likeness to them both. In a few swift steps he crosses the room.

“Do you feel unwell?” he repeats.

I shake my head and vaguely point towards the cup on the floor. He picks it up and sets on the table, then sits down on a chair beside the bed.  

“My name is Elrohir. We found you a short distance from Mithlond, my brother Elladan and I. We could not delay our departure, so we took you aboard the ship to Valinor. I am sorry for the uncomfortable journey, but we saw no other way than to deliver you to father’s care.” When I do not reply, he looks at me intently. “Please, tell me if something hurts you. If I can help you in any way, I will. I am a healer too.”

I draw a shuddering breath. Elrohir has tended me, he has already seen the worst of my injuries. What difference will a ruined voice make? While I hesitate, he leans forward and lays his hand on my arm. “Why are you so upset?”

“I am not upset, I…”

For the second time today the world around me seems to freeze, and for a while I hear only the pounding of my own heart, the rushing of my own blood.

Elrohir’s hold on my arm tightens. “Uncle Maglor, please, speak to me.”

The acknowledged kinship, the unfeigned worry in his eyes and tone break the stillness.

“I am not upset. But… my hands… You saw the burns, you remember… And… my voice… My voice… Lady Varda, she…”

Elrohir breathes in relief and smiles. “Oh, that is what this is about. I had heard of the wonders the Great Ones can do, but to see them with my own eyes…”

“I do not understand why. Why would they…” Overwhelmed, I am not able to put together a full sentence, and my voice is quiet and weak, as after a long illness… but it is my voice again. My voice.

“Father would say that the full purpose of events oft remains hidden for a time.” A faint shadow of worry passes his face, then fades. “I would see your injuries now if you would allow me.”

At least half an hour later, after Elrohir has removed the last bandages and made me move my wrist and shoulder in all possible directions asking countless questions how this or that movement feels, he smiles.

“You have almost recovered. You may rise tomorrow and even go outside, if you do not tire yourself. Fresh air and sunlight will do you good. Today, though, I would advise that you stay in bed and rest a bit more. I will be back with some food after a while.”

He turns to leave, but I restrain him. “Your father… Is anything wrong with him?”

Elrohir looks back with another reassuring smile. “He will be well. Do not worry.”

But as the door clicks shut behind him, I cannot banish the squirming unease. Something is not right. Both Elrohir and his mother are troubled, even though they hide it well. I could go to seek Elrond; after all, Elrohir merely advised me to stay abed… but after a shaky attempt to rise I abandon the thought. It would do little good to collapse somewhere in the hallway.

When Elrohir returns with a tray of meal, I am no longer able to keep my anxiety at bay.

“Elrohir, please, tell me where your father is. I know something is not right. Before, he came to see me often, but now…”

Elrohir watches me in silence with a slight frown. “How much do you remember?” he asks at length.

“I… I remember leaving the house. Going to the stables.” My face burns with embarrassment, but he deserves an honest answer. “I remember taking the horse and riding throughout the night. I remember the sunrise over the mountains. The Ring of Doom. The... trial.” I shudder. Despite the forgiveness and blessing I have received from the Valar, the memory of the dark stone seats fills me with dread.

“And after that?”

“Very little.” I strain my memory but recall only the awful sensation of everything falling to pieces. Of myself falling to pieces. “I felt like… fading.”

“You were fading.”

And at his quiet words, I remember more. A voice. A song. And that glowing thread, tying fast the unravelling strands of my spirit. Now I know why Elrond is not here. I have seen what pulling one away from the brink of death in this way does to a healer.

“He should not have done that!” I grip handfuls of the blanket to keep my hands steady. “He should have known, it is most perilous to interfere that way!”

“I believe there was simply nothing else that could be done.”

“I am sorry,” I whisper and avert my eyes. “I am so very sorry.”

“Do not lash at yourself, uncle. We came back in time. And father is past any peril. I can say it with certainty now. He is just sleeping, and you, too, should rest.”

But despite his kind, reassuring words, I find no rest. Whatever happened later, after leaving the Ring of Doom I made a deliberate choice. I stepped on that path to nothingness by my own volition. And doing so, I brought a peril of death upon… yes, I might as well face it, upon my son, in heart, if not in blood. I nearly killed my son.

Elrond

Where am I? How did I come here? I was at home mere moments ago; I clearly remember candlelight gilding the walls, I remember my own voice, singing. One of the children must have had a bad dream. But why am I somewhere else now? What is this weird, dismal, oppressive place? Daylight here is dimmed, all colours muted, as if seen through a thin, grey veil. The land around constantly changes. Wherever I turn my eyes, the landscape shifts – where was a tree but an instant ago, a rock stands, where a meadow of withered grasses was swaying, a pool of dark water looms suddenly.

I walk along a narrow path leading downhill, towards something I do not see. Fog rises; grey tendrils float by, obscuring the road completely. In vain I try to stop, but I have no command over my body. I keep going, step after step. And then, I lose footing. The path has led me into a bog.

The mire pulls me in. Freezing cold wraps my feet and slowly creeps higher. I should fight against it, struggle for foothold, find something to hold on to... but strength has deserted me. Raising my arm, reaching out is such an effort already that I have nothing left for more; even my voice fades to silence when I cry out for help. This is hopeless. Who would find me in this mist-wrapped place? Who would hear my call? I will stay on the bottom of this pool, forever in the shadows. The cold has already reached my heart.

The air ripples. Mists float by on a breeze, then clear away, and the mire lies before me in its entirety – grey, dismal and silent land stretching under a grey sky as far as the eye can see. This is hopelessness embodied. I close my eyes. Sometimes, all we can do is surrender. A tear trickles down my face. My family... I wanted to spend more time with them.

But then, I start to feel a little warmer. A distant voice echoes in the air.

“…light…”

The word is a barely audible whisper.

“…father…”

The voice is now stronger, and I am no longer cold.

“…stay!”

Then someone clasps my hand and pulls me out. I open my eyes.

“Elladan...?”

“Stay, father. Stay.”

The dreary mire fades, and star-laced darkness wraps me – warm, familiar, comfortable darkness of sleep. It was a dream. Just an odd, terrifying dream.

***

Even with my eyes still closed I feel the sunlight upon my face and the unmistakable light scent of roses surrounding me. But... Celebrían should not be here. She should still be in Tirion. 

“What happened?” Why does my voice sound so weak?

“I hope you will tell me.” My wife’s tone is level, yet there are undercurrents. “We found you senseless on the floor by your foster father’s bed.”

Maglor! I force my eyes open and try to rise. With a light push of her hand Celebrían stops me.

“You will stay right where you are.”

“I must go to him, to see how...”

“He is well enough. Elrohir is watching him. Your son is an able healer.”

I sigh. “Of course, he is.”

Celebrían nods. “Both your sons, if you want to know. Elladan called you back. He is well, only tired,” she replies to my unspoken fear. “But you... It was close. We were barely on time. If not for him…”

My dreary dream then... it was not a dream at all. And Elladan... Oh, what a way to find his gift again! I squeeze shut my eyes. “I regret, Celebrían. I regret so much.”

“Regret,” she repeats in a hollow voice. When I dare to look again, a whirlwind of fear, rage and hurt shimmers in her bright sky-blue eyes. “You regret. You deliberately endangered your life, you concealed from me your distress and complete exhaustion, you made our sons lie to me. And now you… regret.” She brushes away angry tears and clenches her hands in fists. “Why? Why, Elrond? Do I not merit even your trust?”

“No!” Blood rushing to my face, I struggle to sit up. “Please, do not say… do not even think such things! You merit everything I have to give, but… It is just... It is my burden, Celebrían. I would not force it upon you.”

Her gaze softens a little. “Did we not promise to share one another’s burdens once?”

I avert my gaze. “I have not shared yours.”

Celebrían sits down on the bed beside me. “Look at me,” she says and takes my hands. I raise my eyes. All anger has fled her expression. “You shared as much as you could. More than you should have. Your love was the only thread that held me to life and hope I might one day be healed. Only because of your love we could meet on these shores.” She wipes away a tear that runs down my cheek. “I also have not shared in your cares, beloved. Not in Endor, for we were sundered, and not here, for you would not let me. But I would stand by you, I would lend you my strength as you have lent me yours. Please, do not shut me out. Promise you will not.”

Ashamed and too overwhelmed to speak I merely nod. Celebrían smiles, presses a kiss on my lips and gently pushes me back in the pillows. I close my eyes. A few hours of sleep are all I need. Just a few hours...

***

The Sun sets and rises again before I am rested enough to get up and walk to the dining room where Celebrían sets on the table a plate with plentiful breakfast. She gives me a pointed gaze that clearly says I will not leave the room ere every morsel of the food is gone. I laugh and set to it.

Celebrían takes a chair as well. “What happened ere we found you?” she asks, worry still clouding her eyes.

I tell her the whole story: about the encounter on the old pier, about tending Maglor, about sending our sons to Tirion.

“I could not keep them away from you for another fortnight. Maglor awoke soon after Elladan and Elrohir had left. He was downcast and angry, but I never thought he would do what he did. At night, I briefly fell asleep, and when I awoke, Maglor was gone. He had found the stable and taken Eirien. I followed the trail. I am a poor tracker in the dark, but Nínim, Eirien’s foal, carried me confidently after them, straight to the Ring of Doom.

“There I found Maglor lying in the grass just outside the gates, barely breathing. He must have gone to seek justice, or rather punishment from the Valar. In truth, I am convinced he did just that.”

“Do you think the Valar...” my wife hesitates for a moment. “Do you think they turned him away? Cast him out?”

I shake my head. “Oh no, the Valar forgave him. His hands, scarred and disfigured before, were healed. Yet of what had happened later, I am not sure. Maybe, it was too much – to receive forgiveness after ages of guilt and despair. He had given up. I took him home with all speed, but his life was trickling away swiftly.  Nothing helped, and then I—”

Abruptly I fall silent. Only now, with my head clear after the long rest, I fully realize what nearly came to pass.

“Elrond, what is it?” Celebrían’s tone is worried.

“No... nothing.” I put on a cheerful smile.

Celebrían folds her arms on her chest and looks at me closely. Face burning in embarrassment, I lower my eyes. It did not take long to step back from my promise. She lays her hand on my arm.

“Well-established habits are hard to break. I understand that, and therefore I ask one more time.”

I stare at my plate. “I just realized - had you not come when you did, I would have died. I made a grave mistake. I should have sought the aid of the Valar, not taken him back home. Even now... What if he gets worse again?” I shudder. “That place I pulled him from, that endless mire of despair... I do not think I can counter it one more time.”

Celebrían tightens her grip. “You need not counter his despair again, you must help Maglor counter it himself. We all will be there to aid you. And, in truth, he seemed well enough to me, considering the circumstances.” She looks pointedly at my still half-full plate. “At least, his plate yesterday returned to the kitchen empty.”

I have nearly finished the breakfast when doors are thrown open. My sons rush inside and grip me in an embrace.

“Father!”

I pull them close. “I am well now. And I am sorry. I should never have asked you to keep things from mother.” They cast slightly worried glances at Celebrían, but she smiles reassuringly. I sigh. “This family would benefit from more open conversations. From my part, admittedly, but maybe from others too. It would have been better if you had told me about your plight, Elladan.”

Elladan shuffles his feet and briefly looks away, then nods. “Could you have helped me?” he asks hesitantly.

“Likely not in a way that would have restored your gift, but I would have helped you to bear that burden, for I have borne it myself. But that is in the past now. What you did - it proves you will be able to pursue your dream.”

“Yes.” He sits beside me and smiles. I cannot remember when I have seen such hope in my eldest son’s eyes. “Now, I believe that. Even though...” His smile fades. “I would have preferred to find out in another way. To see you like that... I was terrified.”

Elrohir takes a chair opposite of me. “We all were terrified, father.”

“I regret.” I wince. Apology in different forms seems to be my constant companion lately.

Elrohir regards me closely. “What you did was… most unwise. I have to say that.”

He is right. I did what I have always warned all my apprentices against. Expending one’s own strength to the limit of collapsing threatens the healer and will only rarely save the one who is ailing.

“I made the wrong choice in the very beginning. When I had taken him back here, I had to rely solely on my own power. And I had overestimated that.”

He nods. “At least it was not in vain. Maglor is much better now. He asked for you, several times.”

I push away the empty plate. “I shall go and see him now.”

***

The room rests in shadows with curtains drawn, shutters closed. As I enter, Maglor slowly rises from a chair in the corner.

“I fear I may have exhausted your endless capacity to forgive,” he softly says after a few moments of awkward silence.

It is his voice again as I remember it, the clear timbre, not the terrible rasping sound that filled me with dismay when I first heard him. The Valar have clearly intervened here too, and I should be relieved. But his words kindle in me something that has been smouldering for a while, something harsh and unkind.

“I see. You fear I might not forgive you, so you will not even bother asking.”

He flinches. “You should not have endangered yourself for my sake.”

“I had little choice.” I fold my arms on my chest. “But you are right – I endangered myself. For your sake. Therefore, I want a promise that you will not in any way threaten what I fought for – your life.”

Maglor shifts in his stance. “I do not think that—”

“Do I have your promise?” I take a step closer, not letting go of his gaze. “Answer me, Maglor! Do I have it?”

“If you demand...” He hesitates, as if waiting for me to reconsider, then sighs. “If you demand such a promise, then I give it to you.”

“I do demand it.” I cast a glance at the untouched breakfast on the tray. “And that includes eating, not starving yourself to death!”

Maglor lowers his eyes. “I have no right to gainsay you. It will be as you say.”

The acquiescent tone, the hunched shoulders, the averted eyes – they should bring forth compassion. But instead, I would like to shake him.

“For the sake of the Light, Maglor, step out of the shadows!” My voice is tight with anger. “The Valar have forgiven you! You are home! You have a chance for new life, a chance to see your family again – those you still consider your family!”

He recoils as if I had stricken him.

“Home? Family? I have lost all rights to home, to family bonds. I am alone in darkness and silence. This terrible silence...” He sinks in the chair and stares at the wall.

“You are alone because you refuse to see those around you! You are in the darkness because you turn away from the light!”

Shaking with anger, I stride to the window, pull back the curtains, throw open the shutters. Golden glow of morning and sound of birdsong flood the room. He blinks and raises his hand to shade his eyes from the sudden light, but I turn away. The door slams shut behind me.

***

I flee to the garden. Drops of dew still cover the grass and the low bushes lining the path; a ray of Sun falls on a branch, and it glitters like covered with jewels. The dazzle stings my eyes. I have saved Maglor’s life. I have extracted a promise he will not endanger it again. But is it enough?

Light steps fall on the path, and in a moment Celebrían sits down beside me on the garden bench. “How did it go?”

“Not well. And it was my fault.” I lower my eyes. Now, when the anger has cooled, I feel only profound shame. Still avoiding her gaze, I relate our conversation. My face burns. “I... I did what no healer should ever do – I lost patience. I raised my voice, and what I said... my words...”

I keep my eyes on the white pebbles of the path. Celebrían gently squeezes my fingers.

“You are not merely a healer in this, Elrond. It is difficult to face the pain and weakness of those dear to us.”

“I have cared for those dear to me,” I whisper. “Never before have I spoken like this. I have never been deliberately cruel towards anyone I was tending. This is unforgivable.”

Celebrían briefly looks away. “You have never tended your parents,” she softly says after a moment of silence. “That is different. We expect them to be strong, to be there always, and when something happens to them, we are terrified. We cannot bear the grief a mere thought of losing them causes.”

“He is not—”

“Not your father?” she interrupts me with a faint smile.

Oh, my wife’s deep wisdom...  Ëarendil, the bright star, has ever been the embodiment of hope, yet always high and distant, even after our meeting in Valinor. Only seldom I have visited Elwing’s white tower, for joy was always marred by sorrow at the forever-lost closeness with those who had given me birth. The memory of Maglor’s soft voice has accompanied me for all the long ages of my life; to my own children I sang his songs. It is time to acknowledge the truth.

“Then my bearing is even more unforgivable.”

“I do not think it is so simple.” Celebrían twines her arms around me. “You know, he is not solely your responsibility. Nor is he the first one with a burdened heart who has returned and found his way in life again. Surely, there are ways to help.”

I return the embrace. She is right. In this, as in most other things. Maglor is indeed not the first to come back, either from Middle-earth or from Námo’s Halls. And there is someone who might know what to do. “I will speak with my uncle. Today.” I decide in a heartbeat, even though I feel I have had my fill of difficult conversations for a century or so.

When I rise, Celebrían looks at me with open worry. “Are you strong enough to ride?”

“The road is not that long, and I have had a good rest. I will be well.”

I will not give myself a chance to turn back from my resolve.

Maglor

When the door has slammed shut behind Elrond’s back, the dull ache that has been smouldering in my chest since yesterday flares up the brighter. I lower my hand shading my eyes against the sudden light. Maybe the light will blind me, and the white-washed room will fade in the grey, formless space that has almost claimed me once already.

It does not. The swaying branches cast a lace of shadows on the windowsill. Tiny dust motes dance shimmering in a patch of the Sun a little above the floor. A glass on the bedside table casts a colourful reflection as a ray of light falls through it. “You are in the darkness because you turn away from the light!” But I have no right to reach for the bliss and joy the light brings. I should return to the shadows.

Still, I cannot make myself rise. Not yet. The Sun is warm on my face, and I have been in the cold for so long. Just a few more moments. A few more moments of comfort, and then I will get up, then I will draw the curtains, shut out the light, shut out the warmth, the intertwined themes of birdsongs…

The… intertwined themes of birdsongs…?

Breath hitches in my chest as I unsteadily approach the open window. The garden is basking in the glow of spring morning, and air hums with a harmony of sounds: soft creaking of boughs, chirping of crickets, buzzing of bees. Trilling of birds.

A whirlwind of melodies enfolds me, and I sink to my knees on the floor. Was she right, the Lady of Stars? Was music here all the time, only I refused to listen?

***

Later I walk in the garden. Fruit tree blossoms gleam white in the Sun, and at a sudden gust of wind petals swirl and flutter in the air. The grass is soft and vibrantly green. Flowers in shades of yellow, pink and purple line the footpath. A tiny bird lands in a nearby bush and sends forth a cascade of notes. A dove is cooing somewhere in the distance. A little brook follows the path, leaping over the stones with a tinkle.

I sit down on a garden bench in the shade of willows and draw my hand over the armrest again and again, savouring the cool, smooth surface of the stone. I can feel. I can hear music and speak with my own voice again. What an undeserved, unexpected blessing! A faint spark of hope flickers, so faint that I hardly dare to acknowledge it, lest it goes out. I will ask Elrond to forgive me. And one day... maybe one day I will seek out my family. I touch the ring on my finger. A mere thought of Auriel and our children makes me slightly dizzy. Oh, to see them again, to hold them, to hear their voices! My son and my daughter have grown; maybe at least one of them has chosen to follow the path of music. Maybe they have their own children now. Pictures come to my mind, I imagine my grandchildren running and playing in the yard of our house. I do not even know if the house still stands… but one day I might go to Tirion and find out. I might—

“I am glad to see you in sunlight.”

I did not hear the approaching steps and now jump to my feet at the sound of the melodious woman’s voice.

Lady Celebrían laughs. “I am sorry I startled you; I did not realize you were so deep in thought. I hope you were not thinking of anything sad though.”

“No, nothing sad, my lady. I was merely... remembering. And earlier, I was thinking about…” I fall silent briefly, and when I find the words, they surprise me. “I was thinking about joy. How awkward to feel it again. It is like a garment that does not entirely fit any longer.”

“It will fit again, one day. You will see.”

The unexpected weight of her words, the sudden shift in her expression is strange; it is almost as if this fair woman with the kind gaze and ready smile indeed knew what it meant to be without hope. And also… that far-off look in her eyes and her posture now remind me of—

“Are you well?” Hearing me gasp, she tilts her head, and now the likeness is even more startling.

“Yes, I am. It is just… You remind me of someone. Of my cousin.”

Lady Celebrían smiles. “I have been told that sometimes I do resemble my mother quite closely.” When I sway, her amusement fades at once. She helps me back to the garden bench and sits beside me. “I thought you knew.”

I shake my head. “I have been… quite detached from the events of the world for some time.” Artanis’ daughter! Who would have thought…

“For some time,” she softly repeats. “You have been alone for centuries. None should endure such loneliness. I am so sorry.”

Her compassion moves me deeply. “That is nobody’s fault but my own, lady Celebrían. I made choices and faced consequences.”

“As we all must, do we not?” She sighs. “But surely now you can look at the world with hope? Is your heart not lighter?”

I look up at the cloudless sky. Here I sit in the sunshine, healed in body at least, free from pain, with that tiny spark of hope still flickering within me. And do I not owe it to those who still care for me – to forbear causing them any further grief? I take a deep breath. “My heart is indeed lighter, lady. I am most grateful for your kindness and for the care your sons have bestowed upon me. And… your husband, despite the anger and dark memories my presence must have brought.”

The lady tilts her head again, in that peculiar way so reminiscent of Artanis.

“I do not think you understand my husband too well, so let me tell you a story,” she says. “It was in the Second Age. I am not certain how much of its history you know, but in short: my mother and me, we dwelt in Ost-in-Edhil, a fair city close to the Misty Mountains. Celebrimbor was its lord. He welcomed to the guild of his smiths an enemy, someone my mother repeatedly warned him against. Seeing that she could not sway his mind, at length she despaired and decided that we should leave the place ere disaster fell. So, we departed with but a small following, my mother and me. We were to journey south-east and join my father in Lórinand.

“It was a long way. The Dwarves granted us passage through Hadhodrond, but they suffered only me and my mother to pass under the mountains.  The rest of our company had to travel around, and we agreed on a place where we would meet on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains.

“We tarried for a few days in the Dwarven city as honoured guests, and it seemed a great adventure to me then, as I was still very young and had seen little of the world. But mother, wearied by the roof of stone, soon decided to press on. She refused the guards King Durin offered, maybe out of pride, but I think that rather out of carelessness. We had dwelt in peace for such a long time that unexpected perils seemed unlikely. Yet we were soon to learn better. Two days from the eastern gate of Hadhodrond we ran into Orcs.”

Lady Celebrían falls silent and clasps together her hands.

“You do not have to recall events that distress you, my lady,” I quietly say, but she shakes her head.

“No, I must tell you this. So… the encounter. Thankfully, it was but a small band that attacked us. My mother, as you perhaps know, is a formidable fighter, and I had learned to wield weapons while dwelling in Ost-in-Edhil, so, even though terrified, I was able to hold my ground. In the end, we prevailed over them. Mother had taken a light wound, but it seemed no more than a scratch. We journeyed on.

“Evening fell, and we made a camp, certain to reach the appointed meeting place on the next day. But during the night mother sickened. The wound was poisoned. It must have been a potent poison, for her condition worsened swiftly, and at dawn she was already burning in fever, hardly recognizing me.

“It was a miserable road from there. Stones and mud hindered my steps as I half-carried my barely conscious mother. I vaguely recall how she pleaded me to leave her, her voice hardly audible, fraught with pain. But it did not bring forth my compassion. Desperate and furious, I dragged her along. I may have shouted at her. I may have shaken her. I do not recall. Helpless rage is the only thing I remember with clarity. How dare she give up? How dare she even admit a thought of leaving me? In the end we stumbled into the camp where others already waited for us. Thankfully, one of them was a gifted healer. But it was a near thing.”

Silence falls. Lady Celebrían is looking down, twining a blade of grass around her finger.

“Why did you tell me this, lady?”

“Why?” Pulled from her thoughts, she looks up with a slight shake of her head. “So that you would understand the bereavement of a child who is about to lose a parent,” she softly replies after a long look into my eyes. “It was not your presence that angered Elrond, but the possibility that you might die. Even as I regretted my bearing then, so he regrets his unkind words now. Sometimes it is not lack of love that drives us towards cruelty, but excess of it. Do you not see? Do you not know he loves you as a son loves his father?”

My heart clenches. “My lady… this love is misplaced. I am not worthy of it. Not after what I did. After what we did, me and my brother.”

“After what you did?” Lady Celebrían takes a firm hold of my hands. “I have heard of that, the true stories, not those who paint you and your brother as heartless beasts. Finding two lost, frightened children, you sheltered and raised them. You loved them.”

“But still, we are beasts, my lady,” I softly reply. “We did all that after we had razed to the ground their home, killed nearly all their people and driven their mother to destruction. All that makes void any later kindness.”

“It does not.” Her eyes flash in another striking resemblance to her mother. “Kindness is never void. For your crimes you have atoned, long and bitterly, and you have been forgiven. It is your choice now – to accept this forgiveness or to turn away from it. I hope you will choose the former. Please, speak with Elrond. He has travelled away for a brief while, but he should be back tomorrow after midday.”

With a smile that softens her grave words she rises and turns to leave.

And suddenly I remember.

It was that one and only time when I travelled north in these last centuries. By mere chance I had heard of the mountain refuge and its half-Elven lord, and questions had burned in my mind, until I was not able to disregard them any longer. The valley was indeed hidden well; it took me weeks of futile search and several perilous climbs to find it.

In the first light of a spring morning I hid in a thicket of trees on a rocky outcrop. Shrouds of mist lifted. The valley and the Last Homely House lay at my feet. Countless waterfalls glittered on the rocks like silver ribbons. Far below, river murmured over the stones. It was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen, enshrouded in a strange kind of peace.

Below, people appeared and started to arrange the place for some celebration. They adorned the wide terrace with green boughs and flower garlands, brought out tables and laid them. More and more people came. At length, lord and lady of the house stepped on the terrace, accompanied by two youths, apparently their sons. A song greeted Lady of Imladris, wife of Elrond, on her begetting day, and even though I was too far to discern faces clearly, there was no more doubt.

The celebration went on with more songs and laughter. The lady received presents: a tree sapling she at once planted on the edge of the lawn, a beautiful horse with silver coat and dark mane, and other smaller ones I did not clearly see from the distance. There was mirth and dancing on the green lawn.

Evening fell. Moon rose over the mountains. The feast ended and the crowd dispersed, but Elrond remained on the terrace together with his wife. Long they stood there with clasped hands, her silver head resting on his shoulder. What right did I have to destroy their peace, to taint their happiness? Blunt ache clawing at my heart, I turned away, faded in the shadows. It was the right thing to do.

All this flashes through my mind in mere moments. I rise to stop her.

“Lady Celebrían—” I fall silent as she looks over her shoulder. What would I say? That I have seen her before? That I have spied upon her family from a hidden place? I shake my head. “Nothing, my lady. It is nothing of importance.”

“If you say so. May I ask you something though?” She takes a step back towards me. “Could you call me by name? I have always thought of you as of Elrond’s father anyway.”

“I… Yes, certainly. If that is what you indeed wish… Celebrían.”

She smiles. “That is indeed what I wish, Adar.”

The word passes her lips so easily, and the garden around blurs for a moment.

“Thank you, Celebrían. For your kindness towards me. And mostly for being beside Elrond for all this time.”

Surely, I am only imagining the sudden shadow over Celebrían’s face and the brief fading of her smile?

Elrond

It is not yet midday when I am riding westward. This road has always delighted me: the rolling hills gradually rising higher, the lush meadows strewn with wildflowers, the solitary great trees crowning hilltops. Yet today the beauty of the landscape passes by nearly unnoticed. Countless thoughts chase each other. What shall I say? How shall I break the news? None of the ways I play out in my mind feels at least remotely fitting. Several times I almost turn back, but Celebrían’s words keep me going. Maglor is not solely my responsibility. And my own counsel has clearly failed me.

Still, my travel is slow, and the day is nearing its end when I emerge from a thicket of evergreen trees upon a hillock. The valley unfolds before me. The long lake glitters in the Sun, which is now just a little above the mountain ridge at lake’s further end. The scattered coppices cast long shadows on the ground. Grasses sway in a breeze, their tassels weaving a graceful dance in the evening light.  Oh, to enjoy this beauty with a heart unfettered by the burden I carry... Not today, alas! I draw a deep breath and follow the winding path down to the house on the lakeshore.

“Elrond! This is a pleasant surprise.” As I set my horse free to graze in the lush meadow by the waterside, Maedhros steps down the wide stairs and pulls me in embrace.

I return the hug. “I hope my arrival does not interfere with your plans, uncle.”

“It does not. My pupils are at their assignments now, and I am free for another week. Come inside!”

He smiles that wide, glad smile I first beheld only in Valinor. The smile I will surely wipe off his face soon. I follow him feeling a traitor.

“Where is everybody else?” I ask, noting the silence in the otherwise lively house.

“In Tirion,” Maedhros replies. “Ilmarien’s presence was required in the library – they have found another rare First Age manuscript. The children went with her. Elenyar wanted to see the bookbinders at work, and Elenmírë decided to meet her friends. You will have to be content with whatever supper I conjure.”

“Has Elenyar then settled on the craft he wants to pursue?”

“We shall see in a few months.” Maedhros’ eyes glitter merrily.

“And Elenmírë?” I ask, to keep the conversation flowing, to avoid the silence that would inevitably lead to questions.

“I think Elenmírë has decided, even though we have not spoken yet. I fear, she is inclined to follow my path.”

“You fear?” I laugh at his choice of words. “What about father’s pride?”

“There is that. I merely wish to spare her the many disappointments of scholarly work.”

“They come together with the joy of discovery. Your daughter has both passion and patience - the gifts of a true scholar. She will do very well.”

“You are right, of course.” While we speak, Maedhros has laden a tray with bread, cheese, cold meats and fruit. “Shall we sit outside? It is a fair evening.”

I nod. He sets the tray in my hands, rummages in a shelf for a bottle of wine and two cups, and we step out on the terrace built right on the lakeside. The Vessel of Arien is just above the mountain tops now. Within moments, it disappears with the last flash of light, leaving behind a golden glow in the sky and on the water. The wind has quieted, and lake is so still that the mountains mirror themselves there forming a nearly perfect reflection. A pair of eagles is circling slowly above the snow-capped summits. A fragrance of night-blossoming flowers wafts from the garden.

I watch the lake and the mountains. “It is so peaceful here.” If only I felt even a fraction of that peace!

“It is,” Maedhros agrees. “Tell me how you fare,” he asks after a moment of silence. “We have not heard from you and your family for a while. In truth, had you not come, I would have travelled to see you soon anyway.”

This is not empty courtesy. He means it.

“I am sorry we have not visited. I should have...”

Maedhros interrupts me with a shake of his head. “I did not say that to make you feel guilty, Elrond. I am aware of commitments family and other pursuits lay on your shoulders. It is just... I care for you. I know that in your childhood I was not to you what my brother was. But for me, you and Elros were the only glimmer of light in the hopeless dark of my life. In teaching you, in caring for you, I found purpose and reassurance that there was still hope in the world I had brought so much grief into. And when my own children were born, I realized that some of what I felt for them... was not so new at all.”

I swallow and nod. He has just made my errand so much more difficult.

While we speak, I desperately look for a fitting moment for the news I must deliver. At last, one of Maedhros’ remarks gives me an excuse to steer the conversation closer to the true reason of my arrival.

“Uncle, you have spoken with many Noldor who have returned from Middle-earth. You have yourself returned from the Halls. I would ask about those who have been given this second chance. About the difficulties they face in going back to the lives they once knew. About ways to help them.”

Maedhros regards me closely for a moment ere replying. “Are you asking about the Exiles who once left in pursuit of Morgoth and Silmarils, those who took my father’s oath?” When I silently nod, he continues. “You mention those who return from Endor and those who return from the Halls. While these are different experiences, some things are common for most. Guilt. Burden of evil memory. It may be quite overwhelming. Lord Irmo has aided many in his gardens, but there is no better support than the company of those close to them, family and friends. Love and kindness have the power to banish the darkest shadows.”

His words surprise me. “I thought those who came back from the Halls returned healed.”

“Some do. Many do not. They return with hardly any memory, at first, and when it all comes back... it is not pleasant. Perhaps without the wisdom they gained in the Halls they would not be able to face these memories at all.”

Maedhros’ gaze is remote, and I realize – he is speaking about himself. I grip the armrest. To be rehoused and then to be forced to relive everything once more in memories... Battles. Pain. One's own death. That feels like excessive cruelty.

“I would think death to be enough suffering and punishment.”

“Punishment? No.” My uncle shakes his head. “It is no punishment. Neither is it a deliberate design of the Powers. You see, there is a pattern to Arda - things that were meant to happen and things that were not. Death of the Firstborn is one of the latter, a rip in the fabric, something the Valar must mend. They are given tools for that, but the task is exceedingly difficult. Every fëa is different, and those who return are touched by darkness and death, either by dealing or experiencing violence. Spirits and minds are delicate things. To fully mend them sometimes takes more knowledge and insight than the Valar have.” Maedhros frowns and looks in the distance, twirling a blade of grass in his fingers. “I am not belittling their effort and wisdom. This is what they themselves say. I spoke much with lady Estë and lord Irmo in Lórien when Celebrimbor...”

He falls abruptly silent, as one who has said too much.

“Celebrimbor…?”

My uncle looks at me closely for a few moments, as if weighing something in his mind. Then he sighs.

“Celebrimbor spent a long time in the Gardens after his return. He nearly faded, overcome by the memory of his death and what happened... before that.”

“Faded,” I repeat in a hollow voice. “My cousin nearly faded, and none of you saw fit to tell me.”

“Those events were long in the past when you arrived. And you yourself were so overwrought. We chose to spare you this knowledge.”

I fail to hold back a bitter laugh. “Spare me this knowledge? After Eregion fell and we encountered Sauron’s forces on the battlefield, we retrieved from them Celebrimbor’s body. I stood by when smiths loosened the chains that tied him to that pole. I arrayed him for burial. I sat vigil beside him. There is no knowledge you should ‘spare’ me. I am no child to be sheltered from the harsh truths of the world!”

Maedhros considers me gravely. “We held back the truth merely because we were worried about you, Elrond. I worry still. You seem to bear traces of anguish that should have faded years ago.”

I rise, walk towards the edge of the terrace and stand there by the railing, looking away, towards the lake, its surface now glittering with the reflection of rising moon. Maedhros cares. I know he does, and that is why I have sought his company more seldom than I could have. For fear to be tempted to speak, to drag into the daylight the shadows that haunt me. For fear that they would remind him of his suffering. I have no right.

Maedhros comes to stand beside me. “Ai, Elrond, why not?” he asks sadly. “I thought... I hoped you considered me part of your family... despite everything. Have I erred?”

“No, uncle.” I have failed to guard my thoughts. “Of course, I consider you part of my family. I just... it did not seem fit to burden you with my cares.”

“Is that the way of a family? Was it like that with you and Elros?” Maedhros asks. “Each of you fending for himself?”

“No.” I have lost this argument. Like most arguments against him.

“It was not like that with me and my brothers, either. And with our mother. Even... with father, until that final time of darkness.”

“How did you bear it?” I quietly ask. “Losing them all?”

Small waves wash with a soft sound against the bank below. A night bird calls somewhere in the distance, another one answers across the water.

“I did not,” Maedhros replies after a long silence. “A part of my soul withered away with every hopeless parting, and in the end I was nothing more than a blade, set to vengeance. Inside, I was dead long before I stepped over the edge of that chasm.”

His words chill my heart, but some of what he says resonates deeply with that hidden, anguished part of my own soul, that facet I have revealed only to Celebrían, long ago, after the bloody war of the Second Age. I had thought that part of me cleansed, released from its dark bonds. I have been a fool.

“What are we but shattered mirrors, shards, reflecting endlessly our own grief?” My bitter words find way before I have fully considered them.

“Not so,” Maedhros softly says. “We reflect other things, too. We reflect joy and hope. We reflect love and happiness. All these things fix the mirror, make it whole and bright again. I should know that, should I not?”

I merely nod, sinking ever deeper into a pit of misery. This conversation could not have gone awry more. My fabled skill with words has apparently deserted me, and now—

“I regret we are speaking of this only now, Elrond,” my uncle interrupts my despondent thoughts. “Much of what you say is familiar to me. Some of what I know, some of what I have experienced may help you, so this conversation is not over. But today you came to speak of other things, am I right?” When I nod, he continues. “The questions you asked - they are not born of scholarly interest either. Ever since you arrived you have been contemplating how to say something important without hurting me.” Startled, I look him in the eyes, but Maedhros only shakes his head with a sad smile. “You always cared more for others than for yourself. I see no reason to think aught has changed. So – out with your story.”

I draw a deep breath. So be it. “A few days ago, my sons returned in a boat from Endor. They moored at the old northern pier.”

“You are hardly an image of a happy father.” Maedhros pierces me with his gaze. “You are as weary as I have not seen you in years.”

“That is because… beyond the joy of a father… there is the concern of a son. Elladan and Elrohir, they did not come alone. Your brother was with them.”

My uncle pales and freezes. For a moment, I am truly afraid. From my childhood I recall the completely still posture and lifeless eyes staring in the void. At such times, Maglor would reach for his harp and start a quiet melody. At such times, my brother and I, after we had overcome the initial fear of the frozen stillness, we would wrap our arms around our uncle and anchor him to the present. But now Maedhros’ eyes are not vacant. Deep sadness fills them, and tears glisten on his face.

“Tell me everything.”

Maglor

I hear music even in my sleep. Intertwined chords shimmer among constellations of countless stars, they soar among dawn-tinted clouds, they crush upon crests of mighty waves against coastal cliffs and fade sighing in the sand with the tide. I wake with the melody coursing in my blood. As I dress, I am humming it; as I brush my hair, my other hand is drumming the rhythm on the table. But it is not enough.

Surely, there must be writing implements somewhere in the house? I walk through the rooms, my gaze passing over the surfaces, music raging in my mind. But instead of pen and paper I find another way of setting free the melody. By the window of a spacious room stands a harp, a beautiful instrument with inlays of pearl and silver. Impatiently I pull a stool towards it, sit down and draw my hand over the strings that require only a slight tuning. And then, I play.

I start cautiously, at first, for fear to strain my wrist, but within moments all care is forgotten. Sunlight and birdsongs are streaming through the open windows when the last chord fades. I may have played for hours, for all I know, but now I breathe in relief. The melody is still here, elusive notes set firmly in my mind.

“It is good to see you well enough to play.” I jump to my feet and turn towards the Elf leaning against the wall by the door. His face is a mirror image of Elrohir’s, but his voice is different, the timbre slightly lower. His twin brother, then. He tilts his head, then approaches. “I am sorry to have startled you. We have not met, at least... not to properly greet one another.”  His handshake is swift and firm. “I am Elladan.”

“I am Maglor. You have my gratitude for what you did for me. You and your family.” Elladan merely nods. He is clearly not one for long pleasantries. I shift in my stance and cast my gaze at the harp. “I should have asked permission before playing.”

He shrugs. “Father would not mind.”

Awkward silence falls. Elladan’s grey eyes are deep and piercing, reminiscent of... Elrond, certainly, but also of someone else from a long time ago. Of my cousin, the king who kept hidden and safe his city and his people until treachery breached the walls, and the Flower of Stone fell to ruin. After our meeting on the shores of Mithrim there was always ill-concealed anger in Turgon’s gaze, but Elladan now looks at me with pity and quiet understanding.

“I feel it, too,” he says at length. “What you were playing about.”

Embarrassed, I shake my head. “It was just a melody that took hold of me. I do not even know what I was playing about.”

“Do you not know?” A fleeting smile passes Elladan’s lips. “Hope, I think.”

I stare at him in silent astonishment. Yes. That must be it. He just named with one word what I had put in sequences of countless notes. Hope. That tiny spark of yesterday, now a steady flame warming my heart. And yet...

“I still find it difficult to believe it is there,” I quietly say. “Hope. It is so strange to feel it again.”

“I understand you,” he replies. “I also... I had been for so long without true hope. Despair and grief had smothered it. Every sad thing that happens to us... They are like rocks, heaping on a spring of clear water, quelling it. Our sister’s passing... it was the last stone in that pile.”

His gaze strays to the wall, towards a painting I had not noticed in my single-minded purpose. All Elrond’s family is there: himself, Celebrían and their three children, young and fair, with laughing faces and a glint of mischief in their eyes. Their sister... I gasp at the sight of her, so alike she is to Lúthien. To lose her...

“I am sorry for your loss,” I softly say. “We can only hope her time in Námo’s Halls will be short.”

Shadows deepen in Elladan’s eyes. “You do not know... Arwen... She bound herself to a Man of Elros’ line, to Estel, our foster-brother. Aragorn of the Dúnedain. Elessar, King of Gondor.”

I do not know what to say, what words of consolation to offer. So Elrond’s daughter has shared not only Lúthien’s beauty but also her fate. Silence stretches between us, until Elladan speaks again.

“That was her choice, and we must abide by it. But it has been hard. As hard as losing mother.” He shakes his head at my bewildered stare. “You did not know that either. Our mother... She... Orcs captured her on a mountain pass, as she journeyed to Lothlorien. We freed her, but father could not heal her. Not entirely. In less than a year she took the ship to Valinor. It was like an evil dream – one moment, we had everything, and then – everything was gone. I still remember the spring before that fateful journey. Mother’s begetting day feast. Dancing under the sunlight. Her planting a tree. The white mare father gifted her. In a few months, the Orcs had killed the poor animal, and mother... she was broken beyond any healing Endor could give her. The tree... it did not survive the winter.” He falls silent, then frowns, looking at me intently. “Uncle? I am sorry to have distressed you with the darker pages of family history.”

“I...”

In vain I look for words. None come. Elladan probably says something, but I do not listen. I run, like the despicable coward I am. I run again.

***

The path winds down a gentle slope, then up again, over a dune, towards the Sea. Wind carries a salty tinge. Water glitters in the sunlight, and seabirds circle overhead, filling the air with the strange music of their cries. The melody I played but a moment ago still rings in my ears, now no more than a cruel mockery. Everything clicks to pieces – the horrible truth, the depth of my betrayal. I shall never find words to beg Elrond’s forgiveness. I shall never summon enough courage to seek out my wife and my children. My life is now bound to a promise, but I shall spend it like I have spent ages in Endor – alone, running, hiding, avoiding company of people. Hope? I do not deserve any.

Eyes blind to everything fair around me, I stride along the shore and halt only by the stone pier. I stand for a long while staring at it, then walk slowly to its further end. The landscape around has changed over the ages, but I recognize the place. The pier was shimmering white in the Years of the Trees; it was a starting place for those seeking adventures on shadowed waters, only barely touched by the Treelight. And a starting place of my own fateful journey... I shudder, remembering mooring here after the encounter with lady Uinen’s wrath. My brothers’ pale faces. Silent accusation in the eyes of my uncles’ people. Arafinwë’s bitter words as he cast down his sword and turned away from us. Father's disdainful words. My own silence. Why was I silent? What if I had spoken? What if I had gone back then? Why...? What if...? Useless, empty questions.

Steps sound behind me. I do not turn. I do not want to see that compassion, that understanding. Elrond will never truly understand. How could he? I have sensed his fëa, so pure and beautiful even after every loss he has encountered, every wound he has received, including those dealt by me. Yet I must say something.

“I will keep my promise, Elrond. My life belongs to you now, so I will not cast myself into the waves. But I deserve neither your love, nor forgiveness. I am just like those others who abandoned you. No, I am worse. I deliberately avoided you when you were seeking me. Mere months before Orcs ambushed your wife I was hiding within the sight of your house. And then... I turned away. I left when I could have remained and maybe... maybe supported you at need.” A sound of shuffling feet, yet no reply. “Those history books that show Fëanor’s eldest sons as monsters are true. That is exactly what I am, Elrond. A monster. Blood and madness have followed me since I set my feet on the land of Endor! In the Ring of Doom the Valar bade me recount my crimes. Some, I could not remember clearly. About some I am not certain. I am not even certain whether I did not push my brother into that fire-filled crevice! And to such one you would give love and forgiveness?” In the end I am nearly shouting; my hands are clenched in fists.

“You did not push me in. And you could not have saved me either. Before I jumped, I made sure you were far enough.”

I spin around. My eldest brother stands mere steps away from me. After moments... hours?... ages?... of frozen silence I close the distance between us in a few swift strides and grip his hands... both his hands. They are warm and strong, and his face, even though now sad, bears none of the hopeless despair I remember so well from those last decades in Middle-earth. That expression I still see in my dreams.

“You...” My voice breaks. And then, in a fit of sudden rage I slap him so hard that my palm stings. “You left me!”

“Yes, I did.” Maedhros makes no move to defend himself, to counter my anger in any way; he merely stands still looking at me with deep grey eyes. “There are few things I regret more.”

I stagger back as the outrage of what I have just done dawns on me. “Russandol... I am sorry! I...”

He catches me in time to save from falling into the water.

“Do not be sorry. I deserved that and more. I left you alone in a hostile world.” When I just stare at him in silence, my brother smiles wryly. “You are welcome to slap me again if it helps you feel better. Or else...”

“Or else...?” I repeat in a trembling whisper.

“Or else, you may listen to a thing or two I have to say about your speech and why most of it was nonsense, and then go back to the house and speak with Elrond. He awaits you.”

“I...” My voice fails me utterly.

“In a short while,” Maedhros quietly says and pulls me in embrace.

In a short while, I will listen to all he has to say. In a short while, I will find my voice again. But now I merely cling to my brother and cry like I have not cried for ages.

~ The End ~

Note. This is it, for now. 😊 Thank you for reading and commenting!