Beginnings.
by Maybe (miztruzt@blueyonder.co.uk)

Rating: PG-13 - NC-17
Characters: Elrond, Glorfindel, Círdan, Celebrían, Gandalf and others.
Disclaimer: The characters and world are the creation of Tolkien and belong to him. New Line Cinema also has rights to them, which I cannot claim. No copyright infringement or offence intended by the use of them. No profit made.


Perhaps the Blessed Lady took a hand in fate, or perhaps Ereinion was simply disinclined to immediately hear any more upon the life he had lived before, because he did not question Elrond about his connection to the High King. Instead, he fell into a contemplative silence as they continued their ride, now heading back toward the houses. The sky was covered with a mycelium of cloud, the sun blearily burning away behind a greyish veil. The mist had thickened and lowered, webbing their hair with tiny crystals of water and making the grass underfoot slippery. Elrond took time to study his companion. Ereinion rode a little ahead, his hips gently rocking with the motion of the horse. One hand was tangled in the stallion's mane, the other palm down and elbow bent, rested upon his thigh. Again Elrond was caught by the familiarity in the posture, the natural self-confidence asserting itself. It had been oddly soothing to witness, when they had first ridden out for the slopes of Mount Doom - when Elrond had still believed that he could not return home alone.

His mind shied violently away from memories connected to that event. He could not bear to recollect it. He had, in times past. He had lived it over and over and over. Lived it until he had willed his soul to part from him, knowing it would not. He had stumbled around in an almost mindless daze, lost in his own home with friends and family about him. Elrond steered his thoughts quickly in another direction. He knew he would have to relive it one day, with Ereinion, if, or rather, when, he remembered. But until then...

Until then he was free to delight in the innate self-assurance the child unconsciously radiated as part of his essence. Elrond observed him, a half-smile upon his lips as he watched the youngster, gently shifting with his steed's eager steps, flick back his ebony hair with a practiced shake of his head and scan the misty horizon, completely oblivious to the close scrutiny to which he was subjected. Or so Elrond mistakenly believed, for that seeming certainty was dashed as Ereinion glanced over his shoulder with his midnight eyes lit with curiosity. He smiled then, aware of Elrond's gaze, and turned away once more, leaning forward to pull his horse's ears affectionately through his hands.

As they rode back into the forecourt, no further conversation had passed between them. Waiting upon the front steps, a silvery shawl wrapped about her shoulders and her hair stirred into waves by the breeze, stood Celebrían. Ereinion slid from his horse's back, moving to take Seashell too.

"May I come to you later?" he asked, darting a glance at his waiting mentor and speaking softly to Elrond.

"Of course," Elrond replied, gesturing to the child that he would return the horses to their grazing quarters. "Did you want something in particular?"

Ereinion nodded. "I want you to tell me about Middle-earth," he said. "Everything."

"Everything?" Elrond shook his head with a smile. "I do not know everything to tell!"

"You may tell me what you know," Ereinion answered. "Anything."

"Very well," Elrond conceded, glad he had a little time to consider what he would share and what he would conceal. "I will be either in my chambers or about the grounds with Glorfindel, so you may come to me when you are ready."

Elrond watched Ereinion run to the steps, greet Celebrían and then fall into conversation with her. Once, she glanced up, looking at Elrond for a moment, but not meeting his gaze. Then she patted Ereinion on the shoulder. His insulted expression at such a gesture made her smile and she was still chuckling to herself as she walked to Elrond's side, while Ereinion went into the house.

The horses ambled off, cropping at the short sea grass; their teeth tearing reassuringly at the tough blades, the soft thud of unshod feet upon the earth vaguely comforting amidst the ever-thickening fog.

"It is a fair mist that has come in from the sea," Celebrían observed, falling into step with Elrond and beginning to walk the path that negotiated the entirety of the house grounds. "Though you told us of your intent to ride last night we were growing concerned for you. The mist can fall so quickly and it may be very thick at times."

"I did not intend to worry you," Elrond remarked. "And the route was not unknown."

Celebrían offered him a half smile. "Do I not recall a young woman who believed that she would be safe when she rode a route she knew by heart and left without the intent of causing concern to her family? I believe her name was Celebrían."

Elrond acknowledged the reference to the fateful journey that had delivered his wife into the hands of Sauron's servants, which had damaged her body almost beyond repair, broken her spirit and nearly cast her soul adrift. Celebrían never spoke of the event if it could be helped and, when she did so, it was often in the third person, as if to distance herself from the memory.

Celebrían gazed off into the mist, staring at some dim spectre of a tree.
"The paths are not always stable and it is easy to stray from them," she said, wrapping her shawl about her more tightly.

"I will remember that in future," Elrond promised her. Unfastening his cloak he removed it and draped it about her shoulders. She glanced at him then, brought back to the present, and smiled.

"I thank you," she murmured. "And now tell me, how was your ride?"

Elrond lifted his shoulders a little. "The exercise was pleasant to be sure and the steed a nice-natured creature. You must remind me to give Círdan my compliments."

"Elrond," Celebrían said gently.

Elrond looked at her, knowing why she reproached him.
"Forgive me," he said shortly.

She nodded. "I know this cannot be easy for you," she said, again seeming to talk to the shadowy tree some distance from them.

"You cannot know how hard," Elrond said harshly.

"I would not pretend to, but Elrond, would it not help you to speak of what this task may...?"

"I do not have the luxury of indulging my own pains," Elrond said firmly. "I do not wish to discuss this, Celebrían."

"Very well." The detached note crept back into her voice. "Forgive me if I felt concern for you."

"And forgive me for rejecting it," Elrond said quietly. "But I cannot speak of how I feel about this. I do not yet understand it myself."

Celebrían nodded. "Then I must go and attend to my duties. I believe that there is breakfast being served in the main hall if it suits you to attend."

Elrond replied with the negative, though he thanked her, and gratefully accepted the return of his cloak as she hurried away back to the house. He walked on then alone. Why had this task come to him? He had so long desired the return of his king and of his wife thereafter. Yet he had come to these shores, and with his wishes seemingly granted, he had found both and neither. Celebrían was not the woman he had wedded. She was greatly healed in body and spirit from the phantom of an elf who spoke never a word, who could not feel and who did not wish to, who had left him so many years ago. She was different now. It was as if, long ago, she had put him and their family at a distance to protect them, a distance she could not now retract. And Ereinion, of course, was a child.

Why? Elrond silently asked of the Valar. Why do you torture me with what I have lost, when all these ages I have suffered in their absence? Why do you return them now, half-complete?

The answer came back, from the sigh of the wind, or from somewhere deep inside himself that whispered to his ears as he exhaled wearily. So that you may accept who and what you are, what you have seen and what you have done. As must they.

Elrond stood for a moment, shrouded in the mists of time that hid Valinor from the mortal realm. Then he walked quickly back toward the house.

The great hall was unusually noisy that morning, as though each and every elf that resided within it had chosen to be present. In many ways it came as a relief to Elrond to be surrounded by the chatter, for amidst the eclectic conversations that flowed upon the air he hoped to find little quiet for thought. Yet even in the centre of all the companionable talk, Elrond felt that he stood alone. The sounds washed over him, words making no sense to his ears. All he could think about was Ereinion. He knew he needed to think - and seriously - for he would not consider retracting his word to the child. He knew the greatness of the task he had undertaken in trying to re-educate the child in the ways of the current world and also, that which he had once known and who he had once been. He knew, even so, that he could not completely comprehend it until more time had passed. What he did not know was how best to approach matters.

He had still not deciphered his method when the knock came upon his door later that day. Ereinion waited for his reply, entered the chamber and folded himself onto the bed. Elrond greeted him cordially, amused by the almost possessive attitude of the younger elf. Ereinion returned the greeting, but his expression was slightly wary. Turning from the window where he had been seated, watching the rolling of the sea outside, Elrond suggested that they should take a walk. The mists had cleared a little, leaving only a haze over the highest peaks where the clouds had settled low, and now a pale sunlight was struggling over the shores. Ereinion agreed to this and together they made their way down to the front of the house.

Before them the land stretched out until it either fell from steep cliff or rolled through dunes into sandy beaches and the sea beyond. They walked the distance that guided them to the edges of the cliffs and thereupon the high walls sat, watching the rearing of the white horses upon the silver-blue ocean.

Ereinion glanced at Elrond several times and began to fidget, plucking a blade of grass and knotting it about his fingers. Elrond was conscious of him every moment, even as he gazed out at the white manes of the waves, mesmerized by the rocking swell of the sea. Ereinion's presence beside him was like a fireside on a cold day, a constant, noticeable thing, as intense as first his absence had been in the years immediately after his death. Elrond felt his throat close up, tightening painfully as though he had swallowed hot coals, and his eyes stung as he felt the midnight gaze land upon him. Just to have Ereinion there though he was youthful and ignorant of his import to Elrond, he was alive. Just as the sudden shock of registering his absence again and again had struck Elrond like a heavy-fisted blow in the years after the Last Alliance, his presence now nearly moved the elder elf to tears, quite unexpectedly, for it was the same inconsistency in a state to which he had adjusted. Elrond blinked and looked down, settling his cloak about his shoulders while he regained control of himself.

Ereinion cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on Elrond and, when the elder elf raised his gaze, said, "Will you not speak? I would gladly hear your tales of earlier times."

"Patience," Elrond smiled, crippling his own emotions to spare the child the sight of a grief he would not be able to explain, "is a virtue."

"One I do not possess," Ereinion countered. "And I do not want to."

"Fools will rush in," Elrond replied, teasing the youngster a little.

"And cowards fear to tread," came the instant volley, accompanied by a heart-touching grin and sparkling eyes.

"Are you implying that I am a coward?" Elrond gruffly parried, feigning to be offended.

"Did you not suggest I was a fool?" Ereinion returned cheekily.

Elrond chuckled, placing a finger over his lips. "We would both do well to mind our tongues, I think."

"Or occupy them with other topics," Ereinion subtly suggested.

Elrond smiled and nodded. "Very well, impatient one, I will speak." He turned his gaze to the sea once more and considered for a moment. "But where to begin, I wonder?"

"The beginning, perhaps?" Ereinion impertinently enquired.

Elrond opened his mouth to a bantering reply, but instead, reflecting that the suggestion was not so ridiculous, nodded. "That seems as good a place as any," he admitted. "And so, if you will listen, let me speak of a land in which the elves dwelt before they chose to remain in Middle-earth, a land built by the Valar and in which they resided for a time, walking then amongst the children of Illuvatar, a land, called Valinor.

When I asked you of your historical knowledge you told me that you knew of the story of creation, of Illúvatar, who built the world and brought the Valar into it."

"The Valar, wait..." Ereinion closed his eyes for an instant and rattled off: "Manwe, Tulkas, Lorien, Aule, Ulmo, Orome, and ...Morgoth..." he added the last with a moment's unease "And Mandos, of course," he finished even more softly.

Elrond nodded and then quickly continued: "Yes and the seven Valier: Varda, Yavanna, Vana, Nessa, Nienna, Vaire, and Este. Osse and his wife Uinen are Maia of course. Morgoth, whose true name I shall not utter for he is counted no longer among the Valar, turned from his kin and the duties of the Valar, descending into greed and working evil - the most notable occasion and the first to earn him the full wrath of the Valar being the destruction of the lamps that lit the world. The Valar came then to the West and here built Valinor."

Unconsciously Elrond turned his head to gaze up at the great, backward curving mountains stretching behind them from the upward slope, which passed from the edges of the lapping waters to the sand and the cliffs and thence into grassed lands and forests before the rocky, fir-gilded mountains were reached.

"The land was constructed in the Valian year 1000 and with it the city of Valmar."

"The City of the Gods?" Ereinion interjected, though he did not sound certain.

"Yes," Elrond agreed, watching the youngster carefully.

Ereinion had laid himself flat down in the grass, supporting his head on one palm, elbow propped against the earth. Small furrows marked his brow and he shifted a little, looking mildly annoyed at himself. Realising that this was another piece of knowledge Ereinion had probably surfaced with understanding why, Elrond continued quickly, making as little import of it as possible.

"The land was then lit by two trees, one of silver light and one of gold. The like of such trees has never afore or after been seen, for one gave out golden light from blooms that hung beneath gilt-edged leaves and the other silver from its flowers. The light would wax and wane, so creating a version of what is now day and night.

"Morgoth, meanwhile, had retreated north and built there his own fortress. And during the time of both Morgoth's growth and that of the Valar's glory in Valinor, the growth of Middle-earth halted. It was in the two thousandth year that Varda came to make the stars, the first star being set in the north, above Morgoth, to be a portent of his downfall. It was then that our kind awoke in the midmost part of the world and, guided by Oromë, came into the west and the north shores of Beleriand. But I am ahead of myself, for first, in a great war that sundered the lands, Morgoth was taken captive and sent into the keeping of Mandos and there he was confined in punishment for three ages..."

Ereinion flinched abruptly and lifted his head. His brow was knotted with deep lines and his lips pinched tight. "Three ages..." he whispered. Suddenly he blinked and confusion crossed his face. "I...sorry, what were you saying?"

For a moment Elrond could hardly form the words enough to continue. He heard his own voice speaking, as though from a great distance, telling of the coming of the Quendi, the Noldor and the Teleri to the shores of Valinor, but inside his mind other thoughts were screaming. The expression upon the younger elf's face had been, for an instant, twisted with horror and Elrond could not but fearfully wonder what had been in his mind then. Please, please, oh pray tell me that you were not punished.

Elrond slid his hands beneath the folds of his robes to conceal their trembling. But the child seemed unaware now of even his own brief display of discomfort. Whatever discord had been struck, the time to recall it was not immediate and perhaps the Valar of whom they now spoke had intended such thoughts to be banished before completion. Elrond was sickened as he considered that if - and he prayed that it was not so - if Ereinion had in any way been punished he would likely not be able to recollect it instantly, lest the childish psyche would be damaged by past torments. It was certainly few of the reborn spirits learned of their past lives, let alone their stays in the dark halls, before their second coming of age in their fiftieth year.

"The jewels were called the what?" Ereinion asked suddenly, breaking through Elrond's mental meanderings and, startled, the elder elf realised how far his tongue had carried him. He had long continued past the Teleri's building of their havens and automatically spoken on, talking of the craftsmen of the Noldor, and of course the significant smith Feanor...

"The...ah...the Silmarils," Elrond replied slowly, cursing himself inwardly.

He had not intended to speak of the Silmarils so soon, knowing the tale to be so directly connected with the kin of Gil-galad, and not wishing to let the child yet learn of the folly of his own people. He wondered briefly as to who had borne Ereinion into this new life and where they were that Cirdan had once more taken the child beneath his wing.

"The Silmarils," he repeated. "They were three jewels, worked by the smith Feanor, son of the Noldor chief Finwe and were filled with the light of the Two Trees. They were formed in the Valian year of two thousand five hundred."

Ereinion nodded and then gazed at Elrond with his intense sapphire eyes, clearly awaiting a continuation of the tale. Elrond paused, sighing inwardly. It had been a mistake to begin to speak of this age, which was the first, for it could not help but lead to tales he did not want to tell, both for the sake of the younger elf and for his own. He had lost all the family he possessed to the fateful Silmarils, mother, father, brother alike. He knew, however, that no one else would tell Ereinion of it. Indeed, Cirdan had plainly avoided the topics where possible, for his own reasons.

Elrond hesitated; entertaining the consideration that Cirdan had perhaps taken a wiser approach. Would prudence dictate that a child of Ereinion's years be told of the curse upon his family and the folly of his kin? Would not he be told, however, if he were not directly connected to that line? Elrond debated with himself. To any other elf it would merely be history, a reason to despise the Noldor, for those of Sindarin or Sylvan origin, or an incautious mistake to be acknowledged in another of the Noldor line. Elrond had told his own children of the Silmarils in their early twenties. But Ereinion was closely descended from that line and had spent a part of his life picking up the pieces of their mistakes...

"Elrond?" Ereinion said curiously and the peredhil knew he would soon have to speak, lest the child grow suspicious.

"Well," he said, hurriedly gathering his thoughts. "Approaching the three thousandth year Morgoth sued for pardon and was, despite the wishes of Tulkas and Aule, accepted back into the Valar, seemingly obeisant. He befriended the elves, particularly, as I recall, the Noldor."

Once more Ereinion nodded, yet he continued to eye Elrond and, aware of how very much he was attempting to conceal, Elrond warily met his gaze.

"And?" Ereinion prompted.

"And?" Elrond said lightly. "What more can you wish to know?"

"What happened after that," Ereinion stated, his voice warming with anger.

Taken aback, Elrond frowned.
"What if there is no more to that tale?"

Ereinion scrambled to his feet and glowered down at Elrond, his intrigue and good-humour all but vanished. "There is more," he said flatly. "Or you would not have said 'seemingly obeisant' and you have not told further of the Silmarils and they would hardly be significant enough to speak of if there was not more to that tale."

Startled, and perhaps irrationally so, by the incredible ability of the youngster to see through his ruse, Elrond could only sit with his mouth agape.

"I am not a fool, Elrond, nor will I be treated as one!" Ereinion snapped at him. "If you are going to censor everything that I hear of then I will come to you no more! I am tired of people hushing their lips on subjects, and more so now when I see that they think they are doing it to protect me."

"Please do not speak to me like that," Elrond said in instant and thoughtless response, falling back upon the manner of his fatherhood in order to avoid the immediate subject while he gathered scattered wits.

"Then please stop lying to me!" Ereinion retorted angrily.

"Have you not considered that there may be a valid reason for the silence you find people are keeping around you?" Elrond asked. "Perhaps they do not think you are ready to learn of some things and are awaiting the coming of future years..."

"How do they know I am not ready?" came the curt demand.

"When you are behaving in a manner that does not compliment one of half your age, then it becomes plain that you are not yet ready to hear of subjects in which more maturity is required."

Cirdan's voice startled both Elrond and Ereinion, the former rising swiftly to his feet and the latter spinning to face his mentor.

"I will not have you speak to Elrond in that voice, Ereinion," the shipwright continued warningly.

Ereinion's stare met Cirdan's, his eyes chilly enough to shatter stone.
"Then I apologise for my rudeness," he said, his voice low and his teeth clenched so tightly a muscle flexed in his jaw. "But I am not the only one at fault and I do not like being lied to, directly or by not being told of things."

"As Elrond has tried to suggest, it is for your own good," Cirdan tried to say soothingly.

Ereinion folded his arms and stared back at the two elder elves, for Cirdan had moved unconsciously to stand with Elrond.

"Thank you for your concern," Ereinion said stiffly. "Excuse me, but I find it suffocating."

Without a backward glance, he turned on his heel and stalked off.

Elrond glanced at Cirdan, slightly annoyed by the shipwright's well-meaning intrusion.

Cirdan seemed to notice this for he shook his head wearily. "I would have done as well to hold my tongue," he sighed. "You were managing well enough on your own and now I have offended him. He has grown up quite suddenly in the last month alone and I should have recognised this new humour would swiftly take him. He loathed to be protected even in his first youth."

"He is stronger than I think we give him the credit for," Elrond replied. "And yet, not as strong as I think he would believe of himself."

Cirdan nodded, smiling at Elrond's tact. "I hope that he will forgive you at least," Cirdan said. "And I think that he will, for he is exasperated with me primarily, I think."

"He was none too thrilled with me," Elrond admitted philosophically. "I shall give him the half hour to calm down and then see if I can make amends."

"You know him far better than I," Celebrian, who had accompanied Cirdan but stood to one side during the altercation, said with a smile. "But then," she added thoughtfully. "It is hardly surprising."

Elrond too smiled at that. "It would surely be a concern if I did not," he teased her a little, pleased to see her lips curve in amusement. "But I suspect that you came in search of us without the intention of insulting Ereinion's pride. Will you not then state your purpose?"

"Indeed, and I might add that it was specifically your company we were seeking," Cirdan said, with a quick glance at Celebrian. "Will you walk a little way with us? We would like to speak with you about a most important matter..."

The Love of the Heart.

"Indeed?" Elrond turned to eye the shipwright intently, wondering what had prompted the potentially concerning statement.

"Oh, be not alarmed," Celebrían said with a laugh, though even her humour sounded quicker and higher than usual. "It is naught ill, at least," she added, looping a strand of hair behind her ear and touching her lips. "We hope it will not seem so to you."

"Pray then end my suspense," Elrond said, smiling at his wife's uncharacteristic uncertainty. "Tell me and I shall be the judge."

"It is your judgement we apprehensively await," Cirdan murmured.

Puzzled by the equal measures of discomfort both his old friend and his wife were projecting, Elrond urgently encouraged them to speak on, watching their anxious faces and wondering at their shared glances.

"Husband mine," Celebrían said, stopping then and taking his hands in hers, leaving him barely a moment to eye her confusedly at the term of her address. "I came in search of you to ask permission to relinquish the partner of that title with which I named you. When first you came to these shores now nearly a year and a half ago we spoke for many hours and concluded that we should not re-consummate our marital vows for reasons each our own. Forgive me that I did not tell you then of the growth of my affections toward an elf you have long named your trusted friend. I assure you it was not that which swayed my heart from you, for I was dearly glad to see you again and had thought that I would welcome you into bosom and bed. I fear though that I shall never be able to do so, for I am not as I once was. Nor did you lead me to believe that you could do so. Tell me plain if this is not so. But I entreat you instead to allow me to pursue a new course and take the love offered to me by Cirdan."

Elrond listened to her words and for an instant failed to truly register them. Absurdly, for he had no more desire of her love now than he had in the years that preceded their marriage, he winced at the sting her lightly loosed arrows inflicted upon his heart. He had loved her once and final closing of that chapter in his life brought a pang to his heart. Despite this a smile involuntarily lit upon his lips and he raised a hand to touch her cheek with his fingertips. Celebrían watched him, her azure eyes wide with suspense.

"Of course I will," he said gently. Turning to include Cirdan in his smile and his blessing, Elrond continued: "I am glad you have found such solace, Celebrían. I would happily witness the healing of your heart in the love of one I hold as a dear and trusted companion. I surrender all claims to your vows, not for lack of care, but to delight in your new contentment, which I am ill qualified to offer you. Go to," he scolded them kindly. "Trouble yourself not with my company!"

Cirdan took the hand of Celebrían then and reached to grip Elrond in a warrior's clasp, with hand fisted about the left upper arm. Elrond returned the embrace and kissed Celebrian's soft cheek lightly. Then taking his leave of the smiling couple, he went in search of one even more dear to him.

Ereinion was not in any of the locations in which Elrond hoped to find him, the stables, the beach, his chambers, nor even, for Elrond returned there in his search, the secret ledge atop the cliff where Ereinion had hidden from him after their first meeting on the shores. He finally acknowledged defeat and returned to the house intending to head, as was his habit, for the library. It was there that he came upon Ardís sitting on the front steps and sharpening a wicked-looking dirk.

She looked up at his approach and then down again at her blade, polishing it slowly and methodically. Elrond paused, caught by her manner. After a moment she looked up again, her green eyes narrowed into slits.

"You have upset him," she said accusingly.

"I know," Elrond replied, knowing that it could only be Ereinion she referred to.

She nodded, running her thumb along the sharp edge of the blade and raising a thin, crimson line.

"Ow."

She pulled a face and then sucked the blood from the digit, a chillingly un-childlike gesture belonging to her previous life. Then she glanced up again, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand.

"Do not do it again," she said and wordlessly pointed in the direction of Ereinion's whereabouts.

Suppressing a shiver, Elrond hurried in the indicated direction.

Pushing open the library door, Elrond paused for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Only a few errant beams of sunlight strayed between the shelves, lest the books grow faded by the strong golden touch. Ereinion was leaning against one of the foremost shelves, a book propped open in one hand, the other turning a page. He looked up as Elrond entered, his expression changing from simple alertness to a distinctly less friendly gaze. He nodded coolly and then returned his gaze to the text before him.

Elrond closed the main doors and moved to the shelves, locating and collecting the text he had been seeking, before he crossed to Ereinion.

"May I intrude?"

"I am studying," Ereinion replied, his manner cold.

"Oh?" Elrond said cautiously. "What...?"

"The book is on archery. No, I have never fired a bow before. It is written by an elf I have never heard of and I do not understand a word of his writings," Ereinion interrupted curtly. He looked up at last, his features implacable. "I hope that will spare you the unnecessary questions you might ask before you reach your point."

"For sparing me the trouble of tiptoeing about I shall be forever grateful to you," Elrond answered with a mocking bow and noted the grudging smile with which his repartee was greeted.

"My apologies," Ereinion said, with far more sincerity than his earlier and rather forced contrition had held. He laid his book aside and gave Elrond his attention.

"Accepted," Elrond said with a nod. "And I would offer you mine. You are not a fool and I did not intend to treat you as one. If you will hear me though, I would like to continue our curtailed discourse. I do not promise to surrender to your wishes, but I would like you at least to understand where I stand."

Ereinion nodded and without preamble coiled himself down onto the floor of the library, his back against the shelves. With a teasing grumble at the strangeness of youth, Elrond knelt before him.

"Ereinion, I promised you, yesterday no less, that I would help you try to regain your life in full. I do not intend to retract that and I gave you my word, which is not something I would have you take lightly. I did not intend to lie to you." Elrond sighed, reflecting that his deflections had been headed that way, despite his intentions. "Even by omission," he concluded. "I need you to understand that your situation, while not unique, is unusual, and I find myself as out of depth as you feel. I am not trying to censor what you know, but I do not want you to regret choosing to seek out your history. Once something is done it cannot be undone and I would rather have you take the time to grow accustomed to your history than have you wish that you had not learned of it. Also, woven into your history is a great deal of mine, some of which I am reluctant to speak of for my own sake. Can you have patience enough with me to bear this?"

The younger elf nodded, his sapphire eyes dark in the dimly lit library.
"I am sorry," he said again. "It was selfish of me earlier. I did not think of that." He sighed. "But please do not try to hide things from me. I do not like it."

"I will hide nothing without a reason," Elrond said firmly.

But at this Ereinion stubbornly shook his head. "No, just do not hide things from me."

Elrond briefly indulged in a moment of amazement at the difference between Ereinion speaking to him now and the playful child of the morning.

"I would suggest that some concealment is inevitable," a voice from the far end of the library replied and both elves lifted their heads to witness the previously unnoticed presence of Glorfindel. The elder elf was reclining upon one of the marbled benches beneath the high arched windows that bathed a strip of the library, clear of the books, in light bright enough to read. The beams poured over Glorfindel until his skin glowed translucently pale, his flaxen-hair a platinum fall around his sun-blessed features. His clothing was paled in the brightness, silver and ivory against his radiant skin.

"Forgive my interruption, Elrond, Ereinion, but I do at least believe I am qualified to do so." He rose, laying aside his book and moved to stand above them, the light touching a halo of his braids with whiteness, while the rest of his hair fell in golden waves to his waist. He unconsciously echoed both Elrond and Cirdan as he continued. "Not only will the recollections of those who would talk with you differ, but they will differ in time from your own memories as you recover them. And though it is vital that you come to learn of all that you experienced, there will be some things that you should be shielded from, at least until you are older."

Annoyance flickered across Ereinion's face again.
"So it is the will of others to tell me of a life I should rightly remember myself? Ah, by the Lady's name, I hate this! I hate that people know more about me than I do and I hate being protected like a child!"

"Sometimes," Elrond said softly. "The one we most need protection from is oneself." He smiled ruefully at the truth in the words, thinking of the countless times he had cursed himself more soundly than any other over a fault, or dwelt in his misery or guilt without need, or, in more impetuous youth, put himself at risk needlessly.

"It is because people know more of you than you do yourself that they are right to judge that some aspects of your past you will be too young to deal with," Glorfindel added. "It would be wise to place trust in them and forbear."

Ereinion hissed in frustration. "It is easy enough for you to say it," he growled. "But you cannot know how hard this is."

"I know far better than most, Ereinion," Glorfindel dropped to one knee and on eye level intently regarded the youngster. "I have both lived and died and lived again to attain the years I now hold. I tell you from my own experiences that it is not well to learn too much too soon and wiser to tolerate the frustrations than it is to regret the loss of ignorance. Enjoy the youth you now possess and think but a little upon the other ages until the time is right."

He rose then and, quietly collecting his book, departed from the library.

Astonished, Ereinion turned to gape at Elrond and the older elf smiled sympathetically, nodding to confirm Glorfindel's words for the youngster.
"One day you must ask Glorfindel of Gondolin, for he will undoubtedly share his tale," Elrond said.

"I... I did not know," Ereinion said, honestly startled by the revelation.

Not in this life anyway, Elrond mentally added, and then smiled at the younger elf.
"He did not expect you too," he replied reassuringly. "But he speaks with more authority than Cirdan or I can hope to and you may find it helpful to talk with him."

Ereinion's response however, was decidedly non-committal and he rose rather quickly.
"Perhaps I will, though I think not this day."

It was only as Elrond too stood, collecting the text Ereinion had casually abandoned upon the floor that he thought to wonder what Ereinion's reason for coming to the library had been. For the disregarded book had held no interest for him and he had plainly not been talking to the only other elf present, Glorfindel. With a wry smile, Elrond slotted the book back onto the shelf and stood then too. Ereinion had moved to the window and now stood staring out across the landscape. The golden beams of the sun made even the black of his hair reflect the light like a platinum mirror, ebony to ivory bleached by the consecrating touch.

It could be no coincidence that Ereinion had chosen Elrond's favoured place of retreat above his own. Prudence advised him against voicing his theory, but Elrond was reassured by the discovery that Ereinion was as reluctant to be at odds with him as he himself had been discomfited by it. Their re-acquaintance detailed only the course of a little more than a year, and for most of that time they had been apart. Yet in the space of a few days they had grown swiftly accustomed to one another, old bonds beginning to cautiously reform. Elrond kept his distance for a few moments, just watching the younger elf.

In their former love this was a portion of Ereinion's life of which he had never been a part, for it was he who had been youthful in years when they met then. Gil-galad had already been shaped by his experiences and grown into the robust, decided elf-lord to whom Elrond had lost his heart and soul. Now it was he who stood in that lofty position and he wondered at the consequences of a differing childhoods. Already he had seen enough of the younger elf to witness a great many behavioural parallels in him. His natural disposition was strong and courageous, his determination, spirit and inborn assurance noticeable still. The quirky humour Elrond had dearly valued was more pronounced, as was, interestingly enough, the pride of Ereinion.

The former Elrond smiled upon for it was a great joy to see and instead of merely a candle lit to raise spirits in a time of darkness, a simple thing to take pleasure in. The latter Elrond suspected was an effect of being raised with Orephor, for the competition between them was already apparent; he had witnessed it so while observing the children at play. Their former dislike of each other had surfaced early and neither had liked to be humiliated before the other. In the previous ages it had held true, Oropher often exploiting this for malicious pleasure at seeing the High King lose face. Gil-galad too to an extent had disparaged the King of Mirkwood or disregarded him to the insult of the Sindarin elf.

Ereinion's temper, though not quick, was as heated as ever and less restrained for his experience was lacking. His alertness had already caused Celebrían to stumble, allowing him to see the book that had led him to his current awareness, and Elrond too had failed to disguise matters from Ereinion. And he was certainly as direct as ever, where he felt that caginess and circumspection were unnecessary.

Yet despite all this the circumstances were inescapably changed and that could not but help to influence the youngster's growth. That Cirdan had assumed once more the role of mentor to the orphaned child was a great relief to Elrond's mind, for there was no other who so well understood Ereinion save Elrond himself. It was also a consistency in a different world than the one that had existed through the first and second ages. Yet the aim was not to raise Ereinion as the same person he had once been, not to the letter, though the spirit was the same. But had he been unrecognisably altered, Elrond did not know what then he would have done. Glad in heart that he had not been forced to suffer a stranger in the guise of his dearest love, Elrond firmly steered himself from such pensive perambulations and moved to join the child at the window.

Over the course of the subsequent weeks, Elrond found that most of his time was engaged with Ereinion. The younger elf sought him frequently during any hour of the day and often it was merely to socially talk or to ride. He was inclined to absent himself from even his expected duties, such as weapon's practices or other similar occupations, until in self-defence, for Cirdan grew fairly stern about such habits, Elrond joined forces with Glorfindel to educate some of the youngsters and thereby put a stop to the truancy. As the weather grew better, the winds lessening without the winter turns, Elrond chose to school the younger elves in archery and his own recent brush-up on the necessary skills proved invaluable in the teachings.

He and Glorfindel set up a line of targets, each only twenty feet from a line marked in fallen branches upon the forest floor and stood the youngsters: Ereinion, Ardís, Oropher and two other elves, born upon the shores but only in their first lives, behind it. Archery was not something that had been focused upon greatly, the sword proficiency having been worked upon more thoroughly. A little practice had been done, but never with proper targets. Haldir of Lorien had taught the children how to carve bows and arrows to the length that would likely suit them; the arrows being slightly more than the length of the extended arm and the bow neither too tall nor too short for their stature. Yet, save for the instinctive toying with such weapons, little formal instruction had been given so far.

Elrond was surprised to learn of this, but Celebrían had shaken her head at him.
"What need is there upon these shores, Elrond?" she had asked him. "The arts of our kind will be taught, but there is no need for haste in the process."
Instead the education in the manners of court and the construction of the elvin cities within Aman had been paramount, also equitation, sailing, geography and the details of healing herbs, the growing and tending of. It was not so unexpected, for this was not the world Elrond had known all his long life; there was nothing left to fight, to defend, for civil wars were uncommon and deeply frowned upon since the kin-slayings of the First Age.

But the time for archery had come. Elrond stood now with Ereinion, his hands resting lightly on the child's arms as he corrected the grip on the bow, for the first real archery lesson that any of the assembled had ever been involved in.

"Relax," Elrond suggested. "Straighten the arm holding the bow a little, but without locking your elbow. Draw the string back until you can touch the corner of your mouth with your forefinger. No, further - here," he added, pressing his own fingertip lightly to the edge of the younger elf's lips.

Ereinion cast him a sidelong look and then nipped at Elrond's finger. Startled, Elrond yelped and then, seeing the smirk on the younger elf's face, began to laugh. If he had not, he knew he would have found it hard to keep the tears from his eyes. Ereinion grinned obliviously, following Elrond's instructions and then, when Elrond had finished smiling, released the string of his bow. His first few shots went wide, hitting red and blue rings and one even missing the edge of the target entirely. Elrond made a few further suggestions, manoeuvring Ereinion's fingers higher up the bowstring and pushing his elbow up to straighten the line between arrow tip and the tautened string.

The next arrow pierced the air, slamming into the target a little above the gold centre ring. The child pulled a face, giving his head a disgusted shake and fitted another arrow, repeating the action. This time the flying shaft skimmed slivers of wood off the first arrow, once again landing in the red ring.

Ereinion lowered the bow with a hiss of annoyance. "What am I doing wrong?" He glanced around at the other youngsters and lowered his voice. "Was I always an inaccurate archer?"

Elrond, noting the way his eyes had strayed to Oropher's target and the number of shafts embedded deeply in the so-far elusive golden ring, tried not to smile at the competitiveness between the pair. It was a wasted effort trying to outshoot one of that Sindarin line. His own twins had waged a similar battle, although upon more friendly terms, with Legolas, the grandson of Orephor, back in Middle-earth.

"You need to lower your point of aim," Elrond explained. "If you are looking at the centre of your target, drop your eyes, maybe as far as the blue circle. Point the tip of your arrow there instead and it should land higher up."

"You are not doing badly," Glorfindel observed critically, for a moment leaving the side of his pupil to inspect the progress made with the rest of the group. "If you can land your arrows so close together already it will be no hardship to manoeuvre them around the target."

Ardís ambled over, eyeing the spent arrows and fiddling with the feathers upon her own.
"You have more talent than I at any rate," she remarked. "I am proving to be an appalling shot, am I not, Glorfindel?"

"You were always better with a sword than..." Ereinion began without thinking.

Quickly, Elrond laid a hand upon the younger elf's back as Ardís turned curious eyes on him. Ereinion cast him an alarmed glance, registering his moment of folly and Elrond swiftly tried to smooth over the moment.

"To some the art of handling a blade comes more easily than shooting," he said to Ardís. "And there are none among the elves I know who can rival your talent with a sword."

Ardís smiled, but her expression was shrewd as she examined Ereinion, who was now eyeing her uneasily. Then, suddenly, she shook her head and grinned wickedly. "I will wager that I can cut your arrows out of the air," she said, challenging him. She drew her sword, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Elrond glanced at Glorfindel and then lifted his shoulders, consenting that the competition could go forth. He touched Ereinion on the shoulder. "Shoot true," he murmured into the younger elf's ear. "Remember to lower your point of aim."

Ereinion's determined nod signalled that he had heard; yet his every sense was now trained upon the target. Elrond and Glorfindel stepped back, Glorfindel motioning for the other youngsters to hold their fire while their tutors were thus distracted.

The first shot released with the sharp twang of a string that caught the ear of the other youngsters. Ardís' blade arced through the air and the wooden shaft splintered into two. The pieces tumbled harmlessly to the earth. Ereinion's expression was startled and even the red-haired youngster looked mildly surprised, before her features creased with satisfaction. Ereinion drew another arrow and placed it on the string, drawing back and letting fly. Once more the flash of silver signalled the motion of Ardís' blade and the arrow spun from its course with a sickening snap.

"By the moon and the stars," Glorfindel muttered into Elrond's ear. "That child is as dangerous with a sword as she ever was!"

Elrond, his eyes still upon the duo, nodded, his own disbelief at the swiftness of the streamlined metal in her hands written upon his face.

Four more arrows met the same fate. The next, drawn from Ardís' store, for Ereinion had exhausted his own, was set to the string and Ereinion took a deep breath, straightening his whole stance. He looked at his companion for a moment, and then, as though steeled by her triumphant smirk, looked back at the target. With confidence anew, that should rightly have been shattered as his broken arrows had been, he pulled back the string and fired. The wooden bolt shot through the air, missing the blade by scarcely a hair's breadth, and slammed into the upper portion of the golden ring. Ereinion grinned. Ardís spun her sword in her hand, letting out a whoop of surprise and summoning a scattering of applause from the watching elves.

Elrond moved once more to the younger elf's side, trying to disguise his jubilation. Feigning neutrality he considered his smugly smiling student and then the target. "Hmm," he remarked. "Not bad. You still need to lower your point of aim though."

Ereinion tipped his head back, eyeing Elrond upside down and stuck his tongue out.

Elrond chuckled. "Beautifully shot," he said more truthfully.

Then he stepped back, for suddenly he had wanted to kiss the younger elf. For once, long ago, a similar competition had been held within the grounds of Rivendell and there a celebratory kiss had signalled the triumph of the high king, wrapped in the arms of his herald, crowing victory over his friend of old. Ereinion glanced at him curiously and Elrond smiled for his sake. Clapping his charge firmly on the back, he walked away to retrieve the remnants of the arrows. He saw Glorfindel watching him and exchanged a painful smile with his former seneschal, seeing the sympathy written in Glorfindel's eyes.

For a further hour Elrond and Glorfindel proceed to educate their charges in the art of shooting, moving about the group correcting stance and grip while keeping a weather eye upon those others shooting. When finally the group was dismissed, the children were sent to carve fresh arrows while Elrond and Glorfindel were left to collect up the targets and spent bows. Ereinion too lingered, stabbing at the dirt. He stood beside his target, breaking up the pieces of splintered shafts from the competition that Elrond had left tidily to one side, with the end of his bow.

"I think that the arrows are dead," Elrond said mildly, as he and Glorfindel lifted the awkward target between them.

"Then should they not have the necessary burial rites?" Ereinion asked, without looking up.

Elrond nearly dropped the target. "I...what?"

Ereinion looked up with a shrug. "Nothing."

Elrond opened his mouth to protest, but Glorfindel lowered the target firmly onto his toe and he winced instead. The seneschal shook his head quickly and, when Elrond glanced back at the child, he realised Glorfindel was right. Ereinion's comment had been entirely miscellaneous and there was no further meaning behind it. For one frightening moment, Elrond had wondered if Ereinion had recalled the tragedy of the warriors' graves upon the slopes of Mount Doom and that which haunted Elrond, that Gil-galad had ended his life as little more than a cremated scattering of dust that could not be buried, but rather blown to the wind as if in disregard. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Elrond hefted the target again.

"Come," he said instead. "Let me not encourage you to indulge in that destructive streak you are exhibiting. Pick up those pieces and we can return to the houses."

Ereinion accompanied them in silence, scattering the fragments of wood beneath the trees of the forest to return them to their source. It was only when they were alone once more, and fastening the bolt on the target shed to keep the rain from the stands, that he spoke again.

"I knew her before, Ardís, I mean. She has also borne another life - I remember her being a terrible shot then. I think we...I am certain that we have held such a competition before. Was that not the reason behind the look that came into your eyes as you watched?"

Elrond mentally upbraided himself for his lax control and also quietly cursed the perceptiveness of the child.
"Was it?" he asked, testing a little.

Ereinion shrugged. "I cannot claim to know your mind, Elrond, but it seemed so to me. I...last time, it was in a valley," he screwed up his eyes for a moment, frowning. "A deep-sided valley, woven with a matrix of rivers, a river dell valley...come to think of it, that was the name, was it not? Riverdell...no, Rivendell - the valley you were master of. I think Ardís and I were there together and she made a similar challenge, which is why I was so sure I could beat her this time - I had before."

"So you do indeed recall it," Elrond nodded, managing to smile despite himself. "And yes, it was the reason for my expression, though I was not aware it showed. I was pleased for you."

"But you looked sad," Ereinion persisted. "Why?"

Elrond faltered for a moment and then simply shook his head. "Because I was equally thrilled then and I did not think that you remembered."

Ereinion nodded doubtfully. "You always seem satisfied when I remember things," he said, a little quietly.

"And you are not?" Elrond asked.

But Ereinion did not answer. Finally he shrugged. "Sometimes," he replied and then, without looking back, walked away.

Gifts of the Gods.

Elrond watched Ereinion walk away and frowned, turning to glance at Glorfindel.

"I think his caution is perhaps more advisable than his former desire to lunge in headfirst," Glorfindel said, understanding the reason for Elrond's confusion.

Elrond nodded slowly.
"He seems to be very much infuriated with the entire process," he said with a sigh. "Ah, Glorfindel, I am completely failing to simplify this for him."

"You too should be reminded that we cannot work miracles overnight," Glorfindel said gently, taking Elrond's arm and guiding him along the track toward the beach.

"If at all," Elrond said softly.

Glorfindel looked at him sharply.
"What mean you by that?"

Elrond shook his head.
"Nothing, forgive me; it is not important."

Glorfindel sighed. He did not speak again though as their feet traced the path that led down onto the sands and they walked in silence beside a piebald sea, the waves rolling up in grey swells, patterned with curling white froth stirred by the sea's motions.

"You meant, I suppose," Glorfindel said at length. "That you and I and all others of our kind have lived in Middle-earth and fought our wars, to doubtful conclusions, with ever waning strength, and now we are come here, leaving behind the problems and pleasures to the humans alone. And upon these shores the peace seems absolute. The climate is pleasant and carefully tendered to be both varied and yet comfortable to reside within. The peoples retreated here when they felt unable to fight. It is supposed to be our reward, our haven and yet..."

"And yet it manages to be none of these things," Elrond concluded with another sigh. "Glorfindel, I cannot help but feel that somewhere the point has been missed. I came here because I am exhausted. I have nothing left to give to Middle-earth. Vilya is powerless and I would not have the strength left to wield her were she not. By all rights this should be perfection and I should be content. But I am not. I feel incomplete instead. It comes to amaze me that there is no more darkness here for us. I look for the sensations, the premonitions of immanent ill and there are none. Mistake me not, a very weary part of me is infinitely grateful for this, but at the same moment I feel lost."

"As do I," Glorfindel replied quietly. He shook his head sadly, his long golden hair spilling across his face like a curtain. "I wonder sometimes if it would not have been better to remain in Middle-earth and fade. I too feel incomplete and now detached from all that I worked to protect. It was for this reason last time that I chose to leave this Blessed Land. I sought a purpose, a reason for being, though in truth I could be called complete and was granted the chance to remain ever here. I had died for a cause and I wished to live for one as well. I need not have seen Middle-earth again, but I wanted something..." He smiled ruefully. "Something more than this."

"Are we not selfish creatures?" Elrond said with a similarly mirthless smile. "We are granted this blessed sanctuary and we are not satisfied."

Glorfindel inclined his head in acknowledgement.
"We are not accustomed to it," he said heavily. "We have lived our lives in conflict and the result is that we have come to depend upon it to feel sated, fulfilled. We cannot simply teach archery to children and please ourselves. It is not enough. We come to doubt our purpose and seek a reason for our existence."

Elrond nodded.
"We should not," he said.

"No."

For a few moments silence rolled around them, for the words lingered in the air. The thin conviction in them dissipated with every miniscule measure of passing time. Elrond felt his eyes tick toward Glorfindel, sensing the seneschal's gaze upon him, though neither met the other's eye. There had been a time, Elrond was sure, when the elvin race needed no reason for their existence. They were the creations of Illuvatar and their need was dictated by his will. Yet Elrond did not remember such a time. To a degree it was an innate belief that burned like a fire in the core of the elvin being, a source of strength and a reason to survive.

But even the spark could be quenched, by a cruel twist of fate that drowned it in grief, or by destruction of the body that caused the agonised spirit to flee. Or it could simply dim, slowly suffocated by the passing years, the evidence to the contrary, the reasons for existence that became the only purpose. Glorfindel perhaps could recall the time before this and Elrond had always delved into his inner conviction, his natural faith in the Valar of Middle-earth, to give him the courage to walk through the ages.

In Elros the flame had not burned so strongly and he had preferred to live as a mortal, to do what he could when he could and not hope for better, or work for change in a future that seemed unforeseeable. Elrond missed him then, missed the moment-by-moment motivation, instead of the reliance upon endless measures of hope and perpetual striving for visions of the times to come.

Yet Elrond had survived for all the long years of his life on that hope, that faith, and it was only now that he felt his seemingly infinite belief begin to dwindle. There was no longer that desperate need for something to cling to, something to obtain courage from and to brave the endless days comforted by conviction. There was nothing left. Nothing but the belief that they were still supposed to exist for the Valar willed it so and Elrond felt suddenly at their mercy, as though the elves were but the toys of the Valar as marbles are to little children. He shook his head at himself and his despondent thoughts.

"We should not think this way," Glorfindel said, so softly he spoke half to himself. "We do not need reason for our existence, we simply *are*. This is as it is meant to be."

Elrond smiled, stopping before his companion and gently touched Glorfindel's breast.
"You have the logic, my friend, but now convince your heart."

The elder elf met his eyes and offered a similarly unconvincing smile, giving his head a shake too. With a sigh, Elrond continued to walk.

He parted from Glorfindel at the edges of the first headland and watched the elder elf cross the pale sands to greet Gandalf, who stood, leaning upon his staff, observing them from afar. Then he turned away and walked on alone.

He walked until he had passed through the first bay, its sands peppered with boats, drawn up high above the seaweed-scattered tidemarks. The keels were encrusted with barnacles and the sides of the little ships crystal-coated with brine. Then on through the second bay he walked, the empty curving expanse of sand and the projection of rock that concealed a deep pool at its edge when the tide was out. Beneath the depths of the water, darkened by the twilight, fronds of weed swayed and crustaceans ponderously negotiated their haven, while tiny fish darted manically about in the quiet waters. And still Elrond walked on, walked until the cliff rose before him and he was forced to hitch up his robes and fumble in the dusk for the ledges in the rock that would lead his ascension to the level shelf mid-way up the face. And there he paused at last, settling himself upon the rocky platform and wrapping his arms about his knees, gazing out at the ocean with his mind empty.

He sighed quietly. Ereinion came once more into his thoughts. The child's parting words had troubled him more than he wished to admit. It was not so out of character to exhibit trepidation or even reluctance; indeed Ereinion had demonstrated measure of both before... Then what? he reasoned. This behaviour is not new, nor is it so unexpected. But I cannot prevent it... He shook his head to banish his thoughts, unable to find a handle upon his unease to explain it. Concluding that he was merely brooding himself into depression, Elrond leaned his chin into his hand and sighed again. Yet he could not shake the heavy cloak of believed worthlessness that had settled upon his shoulders.

"Your thoughts are dark, star-dome after named child of Illúvatar." The sweetly melodic voice served to startle Elrond and he looked in surprise toward the indented cavern in the cliff behind him. From the shadowy entrance to the cave emerged a slender elvin figure, clad in robes woven of layers of ethereal light, which faintly glowed with echoes of the moon's rays. The Lady Elbereth came on silent feet to his side and sat beside him upon the cool ledge, her feet dangled loosely over the edge of the cliff. "Think not that you have no task in this world, Elrond Peredhel, son of Earendil and Elwing. Think not as the lord of Imladris, nor the herald to the High King, nor as the father to your long grown children, nor as the twin to your departed brother. Remember who you are, Elrond, and the gift you have to give, innate and granted to you by Illúvatar himself."

Elrond's brow furrowed as he gazed upon the radiant Goddess, watching the gently chiding smile touch her lips. "I know not your meaning..." he began and was hushed by the soft touch of her finger upon his lips.

"Consider."

The quiet command was compelling. Elrond regarded the moon-veiled lady in puzzled silence.
"Who I am? Elrond Peredhel, Elrond half-Elven," he replied, still puzzled.

"Yes and no, child of Illúvatar. Your bloodline is no longer of import; the divide between men and elves, so long ago formed, has been breached by your actions."

"Estel," Elrond nodded. "And Arwen."

"It is so." She continued to watch him, a gentle smile playing about her lips as she waited for him to find his own answers.

"But what, if not wisdom and counsel, does Elrond Peredhel have to give?" she pressed him.

Elrond shook his head. "My lady, I can think of nothing. I am but an elf, loremaster and healer..." He paused, struck by the last admission.

"Exactly," Elbereth softly said. "You are a healer, Elrond Peredhel and your gift is that of healing. Your purpose here you have already found. Did you not recognise him as your cause before, your love and your life? Do you not see him now, for that same cause? This is the gift of the Valar to you for your service in the name of our children."

"Ereinion," Elrond whispered.

The lady's beautiful head inclined and her smile was warm. "He is your gift and your reason. You are needed still, Elrond, as all are who yet live. Do not ever forget that."

She touched his cheek and, cupping his face in her hands, bestowed a soft kiss upon his brow. Then she rose, in a moment fading to insubstantiality, and blended with the moonbeams now bathing the ledge where Elrond sat. He was still for many minutes thereafter, touched and consoled by the comforting presence that lingered in the cave for a little time following. The gift of healing, one he had learned and yet ever known instinctively how to use, he had grown to treasure and yet take for granted in the long years of his life. How foolish now to have overlooked what it could offer here, to the lost and world-weary souls that wandered the shores. And in healing, was not the healer healed too? Elrond rose and descended the steps to the ledge, a quiet smile playing upon his lips as he moved back across the beach.

Unseen Impacts

It was some days after Elrond's encounter with the Lady Elbereth, yet her words comfortingly lingered in his mind and drew him to the shores after dusk, seeking the simple presence of the Valar, ever felt in waters of Ulmo and the maia, Osse, whose moon-streaked waves lapped the sands at night. The tide was high and Elrond sat upon the dunes, knees drawn up, bracing his torso with one palm upon the sand. The quiet of the night suffused his senses and Elrond let his mind drift, slipping out beyond the mists that surrounded Valinor, floating back through the strange workings of time to the world of men, Middle-earth as it now was. Did Rivendell stand still? Probably, he realised, and it probably would for some time yet. Time moved differently within Valinor to the outside world; it was likely that the elven realms had not yet passed out of existence. Celeborn was yet to come to the shores and Legolas of the Fellowship quest, Thranduil's son, had vowed to join the elves in Valinor when the Fellowship was finally parted forever by death - the death of Estel, which would bring with it the death of Arwen.

Elrond closed his eyes against the beauty of the night. An image of his daughter's face, hauntingly ethereal and radiant as the midnight starscape, rose to the surface of his mind. The cerulean lights of her eyes sparkled and a sweet smile parted her lips. She laughed, a musical echo in his mind and swung away, her hair swirling in an ebony ripple behind her.

Elrond opened his eyes and let his gaze light, unfocused, upon the ever-changing patterns of the waves. Arwen was gone. She would part from this life to follow the one she loved to his final fate, though the price she paid was her immortality. Did we teach her that, Celebrian and I? That true love consumed heart, body and soul, that its value surpassed anything else? Or was it in fact that she feared the length of eternity, seeing the effects it had wrought upon Celebrian - and myself, if I am truly honest? Oh Arwen. I hope, my daughter, that you never come to regret your choice. But in his heart, he feared she would.

From Arwen his thoughts moved naturally onward to his sons and Elrond sighed, aloud this time. Elbereth's words were all but forgotten as he thought upon his twins, Elladan and Elrohir. They too were bound to the mortal world and would die as men with the mortality that ran in their blood. The twins had claimed that they would delay their choice to leave for Valinor, lingering as Celeborn did until duty was done. They had vowed to scourge the last of the Orcs from Middle-earth, as final payment for the suffering their ancient, warped relations had worked upon their mother. Elrohir had also implied that they wished to linger, lest Estel or Arwen had need of them, and Elrond had quietly bowed to their wishes. On the steps of Rivendell they had bid farewells with false assurances that there might come a time when they would meet again. At the end of Arda... Elrond had known when he had spoken his goodbyes that they were eternal. His premonitions had long touched his heart to warn him of future comings and he had felt the finality in the farewell then. They too were gone. Lost to the lands of men because, with the wars over and peace lingering, they felt beyond the reach of comfort, of tranquillity.

Elladan had held out rueful hands, which, though clean, seemed not to appear so to his eyes.

"The stains linger, Papa. We swore our oaths in blood to seek vengeance and we have gained it, thus tainting our souls. Eternity is a long time to bear that burden. Let us think upon it a while."

He had stared off into the distance. A distance he had ever been at since the fateful day of Celebrian's capture and torture. Elrond had never quite found the means to break the shields the twins had erected that day, between themselves and all emotion. No one had ever managed to cross the barriers they had built after Celebrian's departure. They had died their own deaths, slowly, over the weeks and months that had distanced Celebrian from them. So deeply grieved had they been at their own failure to protect her that some part of their souls had fled to the Halls then. Had they been too young to understand that not all things could be prevented? Had they blamed him enough that they would not let him heal them? Had they blamed only themselves and been consumed by it? Elrond knew not. He had asked the questions time and time and time again, of himself, of them, and yet never come to an answer.

And now Ereinion. With an inward shiver he remembered the younger elf's diminishing committal to recalling his former self. Elrond's ability to heal the body was well renown to his kin and all those who had ever sought sanctuary in Rivendell. Yet he doubted his skill at healing the soul. Elros. Celebrian. Elladan. Elrohir. Arwen. The names dropped like leaden weights upon his heart. His healing abilities were all he had left. He leaned forward, burying his head in his hands.

"I cannot do this," he said in despairing plea to the silent night.

"Cannot do what?"

Elrond was suitably startled as a hand descended gently upon his shoulder and the dulcet tones of his wife stirred the lonely quiet. Elrond lifted his head to find Celebrian stooped beside him. She knelt upon the sand and curled her legs beneath her. Her fingers trailed down his jaw and smoothed back his hair.

"We have all been looking for you. Cirdan seeks you most urgently. Ereinion has not left his chamber since midday. He will not open the door and we fear only you will be able to breach whatever fortress he has decided to erect. He will have naught to do with us. I think perhaps only you can outlast him in determination - his stubbornness is quite beyond me!" She laughed lightly.

Elrond raised a sceptical smile. "I think you underestimate your own ability, Celebrian. You are quite capable of being stubborn as I recall."

"Aye, perhaps - though I would prefer to call it persistence and make it sound less wilful."

"Then we are to twist the truth to avoid offending your delicate sensibilities?" Elrond teasingly parried.

Celebrian laughed again. "It would not do for me to admit that."

Elrond chuckled.

"Will you not come, though?" she persisted. "Your delicate touch is much needed, and your counsel."

Elrond did not hesitate in his reply, rising to his feet to accompany her. But his heart was not so light as he crossed the rolling dunes behind her. The grains of sand beneath them were whisked away, lost to the air in the light breeze that ghosted around their feet. The shape of the dunes was as inconstant as the rippling of the waves behind. Elrond paused a moment at the edges of the beach to watch the endless, miniscule changes wrought upon the shores by the elements and wondered at the significance of his noticing of it, something he had known for years and yet now re-appreciated.

Inside he was reluctant to follow, even as his footsteps carried him in Celebrian's wake. As ever my counsel is needed. As ever my touch is revered as being able to help, to heal. I fear those who need me are deceived in my abilities. I believe even I was fooled by them. For so long I have offered aid and comfort, yet in times of war the smallest assistance long sustained the weary-hearted. I see now the catalogue of my mistakes and I wonder, in this new world, is what I offer enough to suffice? I fear it is not. And I seem always to fail those closest to me.

But he did not turn away from the task. He could not. As ever he could not desert those who needed him, to shun the path of duty. It was Celebrian who paused at the threshold to the house and touched his hand to stop his steps.

"Your heart you have left upon the shores," she murmured to him, her voice low lest others nearby should overhear them. "Is this what you believed that you cannot do?"

Elrond's naked surprise revealed his thoughts without his intention and he quickly schooled his features from the soul-baring shock that had crossed over them. Celebrian shook her head, her perceptive azure gaze missing neither the revelation nor the concealment.

"I do not pretend to know what strange thoughts assuage your mind," she said. "But what cause you have to doubt your many talents I am at a loss to understand."

"I am too old to lack self-certainty now," Elrond replied in gruff lie. "I am who I am."

Celebrian folded her arms beneath her breasts, her gaze turning hawk-like and severe. "You, who has ever preached that change can find one at any time in one's life, that it should be tempered but not resisted, appreciated and understood, becomes now rigid in his mind? Elrond, you are not truthful with me."

Elrond sighed. "I think perhaps I need your counsel," he admitted quietly. "For you have all too correctly surmised my state of mind."

"I know," Celebrian softly said. She touched his cheek briefly. "But whatever your heart feels, whatever your doubts may be, there are those who believe in you, I among them, and those who need you, need you now. Will you deny them?"

Elrond shook his head. "Nay, I shall go to Ereinion immediately. Did Cirdan say what was wrong?"

Celebrian shook her head. "He is too worried to think straight. Where Ereinion is concerned he is blinded. The child we lost to his memories has shattered much of Cirdan's faith in himself as a guardian of children. He is as he ever was with those who bear but one life; he teaches and guides and they love and respect him. But with those returned from the Halls..." She broke off with a sigh. "Especially one he loves as dearly as Ereinion, he treats them as though they are as fragile as the web of a spider - and misses the intricate work of the Valar that give them strength. For one so close to Osse, he can be strangely unaware of the support the Valar offer us on our paths."

Elrond paused once more at that, for her unknowing reminder of Elbereth's words to him came as a jolt. He smiled unexpectedly, amused at his own inner turmoil. Turning away from her to seek the child, he laughed as his feet found the stairs to the upper chambers. Oh Ereinion, always you make me question who I am and what I have to offer. He vividly recollected setting aside the books and quills of his scholarly life to take up his sword and stain his hands in blood, not ink, to stand alongside his king in war and fire. To forget his rank within the court and cry aloud "Ereinion" as the high king Gil-galad knelt to him, private in their bedchambers, and their bodies were joined in passion and love. I *am* too old to doubt myself this way, Elrond chided himself and climbed the stairs to their top, moving along the passageway with new haste.

Elrond tapped softly on the door to Ereinion's room, opening the door quietly. It was long after the younger elves were usually abed, for they required more frequently the fully unconscious sleep their kind were able to invoke. As they grew older they could rest simply by allowing their minds to drift into the dreamlands, shifting upon the currents of energy that suffused the natural worlds and so remaining consciously aware while resting.

The younger elf was sat inside his bed, the covers pulled up over his bent knees, his forearms cradled atop them. He lifted his head from the crook of his arms and met Elrond's eyes briefly.

"Hello." His voice sounded soft, subdued.

A thread of ebony hair slid across his cheek and he lifted a hand to brush it away, surreptitiously scraping his knuckles across his eyes. Elrond caught the faint shimmer of liquid upon the pale skin before it was hastily smudged away.

"Hello," Elrond replied cautiously. "I did not see you today, so I came to see how you were." He entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Ereinion forced a smile. "I am fine. And yourself?"

"I am well," Elrond said, approaching the bed and noting with concern the way Ereinion brushed his hand across his eyes again. Elrond took a seat on the edge of the bed, seeing Ereinion's gaze shy from his own and then warily lift to meet Elrond's as though he had done no such thing. "Are you so sure that you are?" Elrond asked carefully, aware that the question was likely to offend the younger elf.

Ereinion's expression grew still more closed off. "Yes..." he said, but his voice was uncertain.

Elrond reached out tentatively and touched the younger elf's hair. Ereinion did not avoid the contact. Instead he swallowed hard and rested his cheek against the comforting palm. Elrond trailed his fingers gently through the silken mane of hair, brushing his thumb over the soft skin of the youngster's jaw.

"I was thinking that perhaps you should consider talking to Glorfindel..." Elrond began to suggest.

"No!" Ereinion wrenched away from him, striking Elrond's hand away. "No."
He shook his head violently. He glared at Elrond for a moment and then laid his head upon his forearms once again, shaking his head as he did so. Puzzled, Elrond shifted a little closer and tentatively touched the youngster's shoulder.

"Ereinion? I just thought that perhaps Glorfindel might be of assistance to you. He understands far better than I can what it is that you are going through..."

"I have spoken to Glorfindel." Ereinion's voice was slightly muffled. He lifted his head a fraction, meeting Elrond's gaze. His eyes were wide and glassy with unshed tears. He did not blink, but his jaw was clenched tightly. "He does not understand."

"No?" Elrond raised an eyebrow in surprised question.

"No." Ereinion gave his head a third shake, his response emphatic.

The silence that followed was long and uncommunicative. Finally, Elrond broke it, laying his hand briefly on Ereinion's forearm.
"Why do you think that?" he asked gently.

"He just does not." Ereinion stared at Elrond, searching desperately for words to explain the intimidating composure of the great golden elvin hero, who spoke without fear of his own death and with foreboding tones warned of the power of its recollection. Failing, Ereinion was silent, feeling more alone than he had before Elrond had entered the room.

Elrond's brow tautened as the youngster closed his eyes. He did not understand Ereinion's sudden reluctance to converse with Glorfindel, but the miserable expression the younger elf was trying to conceal wrenched at Elrond's soul.

"Very well," he said, keeping his voice calm.

Ereinion darted his eyes up to Elrond's face again, his eyes almost indigo in the low light. He looked away, stifling a wretched sigh. Elrond almost sighed himself, feeling despair well inside him. If Glorfindel had failed, what could he, who knew nothing of death and rebirth, save what he had witnessed in Glorfindel, do to ease the younger elf's distress?

You are a healer, Elrond Peredhel. The lyrical tones of the White Lady echoed musically in his mind. Yet he could find no comforting words. Tentative, for the younger elf often rebuffed such contact, Elrond shifted his position again and slid an arm around Ereinion's shoulders. The youngster stiffened instantly. Yet, just as Elrond was about to release him, Ereinion turned his head, the expression in his eyes showing sudden vulnerability. Then he leaned against Elrond's shoulder and closed his eyes. Elrond's breath caught in his throat at the gesture of such complete trust. He tightened his grip, lightly brushing his fingertips over the child's shoulder, and felt Ereinion relax into the embrace.

"Ereinion, I will not make you if you do not feel that Glorfindel can help. It was just a suggestion." Elrond spoke quietly, seeking to offer some reassurance. "But I do not know how much help I can be to you in understanding the transformations you have undergone and will yet do."

Ereinion pressed closer to him. "You are helping," he said softly. "I do not want to understand the process. Not yet. I just want to..." he trailed off, falling quiet for a moment. "What you are doing is fine. I can talk to you, can I not?" he asked, raising his head to look at Elrond.

"Of course," Elrond replied, squeezing the youngster's shoulders. The faith placed in him, remembered faith perhaps, or born anew, served to chase from his mind his temporary indulgence in self-doubt.

"Good," Ereinion murmured.

But he did not speak again and, some moments later, when Elrond gently swept aside the dark curtain of hair obscuring the youngster's face, his eyes were closed in quiet slumber. Elrond felt a smile creep onto his lips and, with painstaking slowness, extracted himself from the embrace, settling the child amidst the pillows. He eased a coverlet over Ereinion's body and then quietly stole from the chamber.

* * * * *

Elrond did not immediately retire to his own chambers; instead he sought Glorfindel's room and knocked upon the door. No reply came from within and, with a sighing glance out at the night and realising the lateness of the hour, Elrond headed for his own chamber. He was curious as to what had passed between Ereinion and Glorfindel, for the younger elf was clearly upset. What had Glorfindel spoken of to have that effect? Elrond glanced back at the closed chamber door, as he opened his own, and shook his head in annoyance.

Sat before the fireplace, a glass of miruvor in his hand, with another poured and set upon the mantelpiece, was Glorfindel. Stopping short, Elrond greeted his friend with a nod and then moved to take up the awaiting glass.

"I thought I had better come and find you," Glorfindel said, placing his glass on the arm of the chair and stretching his arms up behind his head. He shook out his curtain of hair and exhaled, shaking off the drowsiness induced by the long wait at the late hour. "Have you seen Ereinion today?"

"Yes." Elrond took a sip from his drink and then re-set it on the mantelpiece. "I have just been to your chambers in search of you, my friend. Forgive me if I sound brusque, but what passed between the two of you this day? I thought that you of all people would understand what Ereinion is feeling at the moment and yet he says quite adamantly that you do not." Elrond knew he was failing to keep the sharpness out of his tone and swallowed down the concluding statement: I would have expected a little more sensitivity from you.

"I do understand, Elrond," Glorfindel sighed. "But the ways in which we react to this experience differ greatly. I have been talking with Ecthelion and Tuor, for they are reunited upon these shores, their friendship as great as ever it was. Idril too is here, for she and Tuor travelled West after the fall of Gondolin and were permitted entry to these shores" he added as an afterthought. "Ecthelion feels as I do regarding his former life; it is part of a whole that cannot and should not be denied and he seems to have had little difficulty in recalling all that has happened to him. Tuor, however, does not, will not, speak of it. He is haunted by dreams of that time, the presence of which he denies. Ecthelion is trying to ease his distress but it seems Tuor blames himself for the death of his friend. My point, Elrond, is that the consequences of these recollections are diverse and quite unpredictable."

"This is ominous warning to my ears but you do not answer my question," Elrond said, a little more sharply than he had intended.

Glorfindel flinched at his tone, his eyes surprised and slightly hurt. "I do not mean to further worry you, my lord," he apologised.

"Just answer the question," Elrond answered shortly.

"I tried to speak to Ereinion of Gondolin," Glorfindel explained. "I hoped that he would see that his death and former life can be accepted and incorporated into a whole, but also that it takes time and should not be rushed. I mentioned the incident we had with my nightmares and your suppressant drink. Valar forbid that Ereinion should be hidden from his past, the consequences could be devastating, but to induce the memories too swiftly, as I have previously warned him, could be still worse."

Elrond nodded, frowning to himself. "I thought to ask you myself to speak of such things with him, you are not careless with your tongue and I am perplexed as to what then has caused him grief." He sighed, still frowning and took a seat opposite Glorfindel, twirling the stem of his glass between thumb and forefinger. He considered the matter for a few more moments and then shook his head, draining the last of his drink and rising. "I apologise for my curtness, my friend, you are not at fault, I think."

TBC...


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