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.