October 8^th, 2986 T. A.

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Autumn came to Rivendell in its full glory. The scent of falling leaves fills the air as they fall into the river that bears them down with its stream like small funeral boats of summer. The trees whisper their farewells to them, dignified like a mourning queen. The days shorten, and the nights are cold and dark. But the darkness has no strength over the Last Homely House. I see Elrond. He stands at the window, and looks to the stars. His eyes seek me, and when our sights meet, he smiles. It is a smile of gratitude, but there is something deeper in his look. Forgiveness… With the same look he gives it, and asks for it.

My son… There is nothing that I could forgive you. I know what is in your mind – that you almost forgot me; that I became just another star of the night sky emblazoned with legends. It was I that left. The Sea called to me, and I couldn’t resist that call. The journey was too uncertain and dangerous. I didn’t know if I would return… And so I left you where I thought you will be safe. If I knew about the next kin slaying brought by the cursed oath… If I knew that I will reach the White Shores, I would take you with me. But I didn’t know… and I didn’t return.

You forgive me, my son… It means so much to me, that I can’t express it with words. It brings peace to my wandering soul. I know that I made the right choice. I do not mean the right thing for Middle-earth now. Finally I know that, at the end, my choice helped you, and that I am not as helpless watcher as I thought. I am here – until the Moon itself should fade, I will be here. My light can show you the way on a dark path, like it can give you hope in the dark times. If I would not leave, I wouldn’t be here when you needed me, I wouldn’t show you the way… It is a poor compensation for a father, I know... but I’m glad that my choice led to something good for you, too... There is nothing to forgive, my son. No, I thank you for not forgetting me, and I thank you for your forgiveness.

Elrond steps away from the window, as if to allow me to look at someone else, someone confined to bed. Aragorn looks much better now. His eyes are bright, and some color already returned to his face. I remember the picture that I saw just a few days ago: the pale face and lips with bluish tint, half opened in a moan of pain, the crusted blood on the temple... Tears are in my eyes, but smile is on my lips as I see him now, awake and in the care of those who love him. His brothers are sitting on both sides of the bed, still the mighty guardians, although not so silent anymore. Probably, they took a self-appointed task to entertain him with their stories… making him forget the ordeal...

Elrond listens for a while, smiling to himself. Then he reaches for his harp, and they silence expectantly. He plays it only rarely, but he is a skilled musician… he had a good teacher. Yet for some reason I felt a pang of pain every time he played the harp. His teacher was Maglor. He was where I should have been, and I could only watch. He raised my sons as his own. He taught them to fight, to play the harp; he was there when they were ill. He was there when Elros fell off his first big horse and broke his arm… He was there when I could not…

Aragorn looks at Elrond while he plays. Suddenly, Arathorn’s face is before my eyes. He too could not be there to raise his son. He could not see him growing up and becoming the man that he is now. But someone was there to teach him, to soothe his hurts… to find him when he is lost and alone, to sit at his bed for long hours and guide him back from the border of death… to play the harp for him… If Arathorn could know, I’m sure that he would be thankful. And I, I know…

Thank you Maglor… wherever your restless spirit wanders now, thank you for raising my sons… You taught them to play the harp much better than I ever would, you know… I listen to Elrond’s song. It is an old song, and I have heard it many times. Never before has the song touched me so. Somehow, through the hands of my son on the strings, it connects us, Maglor…

Eärendel arose where the shadow flows
At Ocean's silent brim;
Through the mouth of night as a ray of light
Where the shores are sheer and dim
He launched his bark like a silver spark
From the last and lonely sand;
Then on sunlit breath of day's fiery death
He sailed from Westerland…

The song ends, and Elrond smiles at his sons. Now the time is right... “I will tell you a story,” he says. “A true story, about a ray of light that showed me the way… to you…” he touches Aragorn’s cheek tenderly. And he speaks. I listen with bathed breath – just like them. I know the story, but it feels so good to listen to it.

Elrond ends and silence envelops the room. Four sights turn to the night sky. “Grandfather? Does he see us now?” Elrohir asks a bit uncertainly. I must laugh at his expression. Yes, grandson, I do… I see you even when Glorfindel doesn’t…. Elrond, I hope that you showed them my picture, so that they can imagine me, and not some glorious eight feet tall warrior with an adamant helmet and silver habergeon…

But Aragorn looks at me, as he did before, among the cold stones, with that look touching my soul. “He was there…” he whispers. Ah… Elrond looks at him in surprise, and Aragorn continues. “When I lay in the valley, losing hope that I will ever see Rivendell again… I saw Gil-Estel. And suddenly I knew that he is there… watching me. The light gave me strength to hold on…”

Elrond has no words for an answer. He embraces his son. “Oh Estel…”

Oh Estel… I knew it. I knew that you have seen me. My light… That was the only thing that I could give you. Maybe it was more than I thought… I cursed my helplessness, but maybe I have more then I realized. While I can be here, while I can bear the light... That is the gift that I thought a curse when I lost my own path in all the darkness and despair of these times. And you helped me to find it again. When you refused to give up, when you looked up, and sought me, you reminded me on my purpose. You sought your hope in me, and you returned me my hope. The hope for the restoration of the old glory, the hope for the day of peace and a night without darkness, the hope for Middle-earth.

Éalá Éarendel Engla Beorhtast (The Last Voyage of Eärendel) – J. R. R. Tolkien: The Book of Lost Tales II, "The Tale of Eärendel"