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Title: The Spectre at the Feast (#1211)
Author: SpaceWeavil
Chapters: 3

Archive: Tolkien
Category: The Silmarillion
Description: Elrond and Elros meet in Númenor for the final time, to settle a few old scores.
Published: 23 Aug 2004
Updated: 01 Sep 2004
Warnings:
Type: General
Characters: Elrond; Elros


Chapter 1 - Part One

The Spectre at the Feast

Author’s Note - Countless thanks to my wonderful beta Andreth


The year 442 of the Second Age

I

A shadow passed across the floor. Elrond gasped and turned, his heart racing for a moment until he heard the beating of wings outside his window and gathered that another bird had flown past. He wandered over, leaning on the sill while he craned upwards, and saw tail feathers disappearing towards the top of the tower. The eagles' cries to one another cut across the warm, still air in which the city was wrapped and a single bronze feather drifted down from the eyrie to a paved square. Elrond followed its progress, watching it disappear amongst the bustling bodies below.

He stayed for a while by the window, his arms folded and resting on the sill, while the warm sunlight brushed his cheeks. The view was incredible, since the king’s palace towered over most other buildings in Armenlos and Elrond could survey the eastern quarter of the city as it bathed in the sun, the white stones gleaming brightly. The coloured banners of the palace fluttered like butterfly wings in the light breeze and a flock of tiny scarlet birds flew in an unceasing circle above the square, swooping and rising en masse. Looking down on them, Elrond almost imagined he could catch one if he stretched out his hand.

He sighed deeply. Perhaps, under different circumstances, he could have enjoyed visiting the island. However he could not look at the buildings and the grandeur of the place without feeling a conflicting blast of emotions rising from the pit of his stomach. Númenor was so very beautiful and exotically strange, yet he longed to leave and return to the Havens. He knew he should admire the achievement; that in less than five centuries, Men had forged this grand kingdom. Part of him was proud that his brother had succeeded and had made this wonderful life for himself. Yet above it all, Elrond’s thoughts turned inward. He felt lost amongst it all, he who had been left behind and achieved nothing. He was just one of many noble-born Eldar around Gil-galad’s house,. His brother, on the other hand, was a king. He felt ashamed of his envy but it was there nonetheless.

His mind churned over a dozen possible reasons why Elros wanted him here now, after nearly five hundred years without a word exchanged. When the letter arrived, delivered in the clutches of one of the eagles from the palace eyrie, Elrond’s first thoughts had been panicked. He imagined some great disaster had struck Númenor or that Elros’ choice had finally taken him. He was mortal after all, and Elrond always knew, at the back of his mind, that one day he would hear of Elros’ death.

The letter, however, had been polite, formal and unenlightening, simply inviting him to the island to ‘discuss some old matters’. The eagle messenger seemed unperturbed and had not waited for a reply, but had a knowing glint in his eye that let Elrond think there was some plot afoot, one that even the birds were keen to aid Elros with. Elros had always been the calculating one, the one who thought everything through with thorough precision before acting. Elrond felt sure he was planning something.

He turned from the window at last and wandered into his room, which was large and bright, full of white plastered walls decorated with smooth carvings of seabirds and blue mosaics of maritime scenes. Indigo drapes and tapestries of elven ships on wild seas hung near the bed and the floor was tiled in warm vermilion stone. The sun streamed in on him as he drifted around, his hair and clothes ruffled by the lightest breeze.

He waited, having rested from his journey and changed into his finer clothes, for the team of courtiers who seemed to be orchestrating the visit on the king’s behalf to fetch him. He had not seen Elros as yet, and had no idea what the king had planned for the evening. According to one of the lackeys, he had gone up to the Holy Mountain alone and would not return until it was late. That explanation did nothing to soothe the disappointment that gnawed at Elrond’s heart upon entering the harbour at Rómenna and finding that his brother was absent. No grand escort or welcoming committee could stand in his place.

Moreover, each hour that went by, left to stew in his room, irked him intensely. If things had been reversed, he would have come to meet Elros at the quayside. If he was intent on seeing his estranged brother, he would not wait. But then Elros was the logical one. He was probably afraid to act until he had every detail under his control. Elrond often wondered if that was why he had made the choice – a final effort to seize the reins on his life. Elros could control the one thing that was usually left to chance. He could decide the time of his passing and what became of him.

He sighed deeply, watching the birds flit past the window once again in a streak of scarlet. Why should Elros come to the harbour to meet him? He was nothing, he told himself, drooping wearily onto the edge of the bed. In the music of the world he was no more than an echo of the grander theme. Elros had made himself great. Perhaps he had called Elrond here so he could show off his accomplishments, and drive it home that his choice had been the right one. That he controlled his destiny now.

Elrond swept off the bed again and paced the room for a while, before returning to the window. The square now lay empty and the coloured paving stones basked in the languid afternoon sun. The courtiers and councillors forming an ever-moving bustle there had now completely vanished. A strange calm fell, broken only by the birds in their unending circle.

Elrond stared at the clear blue skies outside and remembered scenes from his distant childhood. He almost laughed, trying to equate the boy he knew with a great king. He tried to picture an image of himself, but had little success, even when he tried staring in the mirror and imagining the reflection as a separate entity. After all those years, he could not believe he was actually there, in Elros’ palace, perhaps only minutes away from seeing him at last.

As his nerves began to tingle once again and the apprehensive nausea returned, Elrond pondered over a few more possible excuses to avoid the meeting. His life was fairly stable and content in Lindon, so did he really want to upset it all, and rake up the troubles of the past? What if the tiny voice inside him was wrong, and that there was no hope of a reconciliation between them? After all, it had been nearly five hundred years, and Elros had never before expressed a desire to see him. There had to be something else behind it.

If Elros had wanted to save their relationship, surely he would have come to the harbour, Elrond reasoned. He would not have left him to brood in this room, surrounded by unfamiliar things, foreign smells and sounds that simply added to his anticipation and concern. Too much had happened, he told himself, for them to ever find the love they had known as children. There was too great a division between them. So many things had been said, he thought with a deep sigh and closed his eyes. There were too many wounds to be healed by a simple meeting.

The little voice, however, refused to give up. It continued to nag at him, whispering to him that perhaps – just perhaps – Elros felt the same way as he did. Beneath every other churning sensation coursing through Elrond’s body he knew that he missed his brother. He only hoped that Elros might share the sentiment.


II

Elros admired himself in the mirror, wondering if it was a premonition of what was to come. He tried to imagine his reflection was a person in its own right and thought how he would react looking into eyes exactly like his own. His imagination could not quite cope with the endeavour, however. It had been so long since he and Elrond had parted, he could only visualise his brother as a youth. Far too often, however, when he pictured Elrond, he remembered their last meeting and was forced to close his eyes to shut out the memory.

He turned away from the mirror, his embroidered silk tunic now fastened and his circlet set properly on his head.

“Did they set that extra table in the hall as I ordered?” he asked, glanced across the room. His eldest son Vardamir hovered by the door, arms folded. He stepped forward on being addressed.

“Of course,” he replied. “And the chamberlain tells me he’s seconded another fifty kitchen hands, since you’ve invited the whole of Númenor, practically.”

“Good,” muttered Elros. “Good.”

“It promises to be a fine night,” Vardamir went on, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Elros smiled proudly when he noticed, but said nothing. He only prayed that Elrond would take to his children with the same enthusiasm.

“I hope it is,” he answered simply.

“How long is it since you’ve seen him?”

“Too long.”

Vardamir sighed thoughtfully. “What’s he like? I mean, is he like the other Eldar who’ve come here?”

“Are you bringing your family to meet him?” asked Elros, avoiding the question.

“They’ve gone to the hall already,” said Vardamir, regarding Elros with narrowed eyes, trying to fathom him. It was a difficult job, even after hundreds of years in his father’s company. As Elros’ reign progressed and the realm strengthened he seemed to become more adept at concealing his thoughts behind a regal mask. “They’re with Manwendil. I thought I would join them once I’ve brought Elrond to you. Then we can wait in the Hall for you both.”

“That would be a good idea,” said Elros. “Though promise me that when you go to him you will forgive him if he reacts strangely to you. A good deal has passed between us that ought not to have.”

“Of course.”

Elros stared into the distance for a moment. “Vardamir, I want you to consider something else.”

“Name it.”

“Whatever his reaction, I would have you consider Elrond family, as we ought to have done from the start.” Elros turned away and wandered to the window, where he could watch the birds circling around the square. His expression betrayed nothing and the sigh he let out was so controlled as to be indiscernible. “You will be all he has,” he continued. “You and your sons. Once I am gone.”

Vardamir straightened. “You need not ask, father. Your brother will always find a welcome in Númenor.”

Elros nodded, relief washing through his body like a cool mountain stream. “Very well then, I think it is time,” he concluded at length. “You should go to him.”

Vardamir bowed and smiled, then withdrew from the chamber.

Elros continued to stare pensively from the window, serenely noble as if he had been carved there. The sunlight brightened the colours of the city and pride swelled in his breast as he looked upon his legacy to the world. It had been a good life, he concluded. One thing only remained to be resolved.

He was not entirely worried about the meeting. He expected there would be tension and probably a hail of harsh words before the night was over, but he knew that there was a chance of making amends. The idea tickled him with excitement; seeing Elrond again, seeing what his brother had become after all those years. He had often imagined him living a peaceful, enriched life amongst the Eldar in Lindon, probably surrounded by books from dawn till dusk. He saw hints of his brother when he looked at his own children, particularly Vardamir, and wondered if Elrond would have a brood of his own, who would show traces of their estranged uncle in their eyes.

The only twinge of apprehension came to him when he thought again of their parting. He understood so much more now. Over the years he had examined that moment and realised how much of the rift was his fault. The embarrassment had stayed his hand from contacting Elrond for centuries. He had been an idiot in his youth, he thought with a dry laugh. And that foolishness had cost him years that could otherwise have been spent with Elrond.

He felt a twitching in his stomach as the hour drew nearer. If all went well, he would have his chance to make things right. He had thought it through meticulously and had planned the best approach, the best room to use, the best time of day. The thrill of it made him feel like springing around his chamber and singing, something he had never done in his life.

After all, if Elrond wasn’t interested in reconciliation, surely he wouldn’t have answered the invitation.


III

Elrond sprang to his feet as someone knocked his chamber door. Without thinking he inspected his robes for creases and checked his hair, his heart thudding so hard it felt ready to burst out of his mouth. For a moment he wondered if he would even be able to recognise Elros again, after all this time. Then he convinced himself that it was a foolish notion. Of course he would recognise his twin.

The door opened and Elrond’s heart fluttered. The tall, handsome man who stepped into the chamber was not his brother. Yet a flash of recognition stifled Elrond’s disappointment. He looked into the stranger’s eyes and knew that they were kinsmen. He stared, unable to coax words from his brain. The thought had never occurred that Elros would have children, and yet it now seemed such an obvious thing.

Vardamir smiled warmly, spotting the same familial traits in Elrond that the elf lord had seen in him. He rushed forward offering his hand.

“My Lord Elrond,” he said, bowing. “My name is Vardamir Nólimon, son of Elros Tar-Minyatur. And it’s my great honour to meet you at last sir.”

Elrond studied him for a minute that seemed to last for a century, grasping his hand lightly.

“My brothers and sister await you in the great hall,” Vardamir went on, beaming. “Father has arranged a feast in your honour later this evening. They’ve spoken of nothing else save your visit for days. Really, it is wonderful to have you here.”

Elrond nodded. None of Vardamir’s words registered with him. “Your name is Vardamir?” he asked finally.

“Yes sir, and consider my line at your service.”

Elrond frowned and drifted away, gazing at the floor. “Your line?”

“I have three sons and a daughter and six grandchildren.”

Elrond shook his head and laughed dryly, shuddering as he tried to take everything in. “My apologies,” he said at last, trying not to sound as shaken as he really was. “I had no idea.”

Vardamir gave him a sympathetic look. “I understand that you and my father haven’t spoken for some time, though I was never told the reason.”

“No, I don’t expect he would speak of it.”

“It isn’t my place to ask,” said Vardamir. “I only know that he has planned this visit for months, eager that all should be perfect. And I for one would like to take the opportunity to welcome you to our family. I hope we’ll have time to talk in depth before you leave.”

“So do I,” replied Elrond, only vaguely aware of what he was saying.

“Well, if you’re ready, I can take you to father. He’s waiting for you in the gardens.”

Elrond nodded and, and after a moment’s hesitation, followed him out of the room.

Vardamir talked to him constantly, pointing out features in the palace, telling him stories about its construction, showing him places that meant something to Elros and the family. Elrond maintained a mask of calm but sensed his limbs trembling and growing unsteady. Not only was Elros a king, he thought, the founder of his realm, but he had his own dynasty. He had married and seen his children born, all without a word.

Elrond glanced at Vardamir and counted all the years he had missed. His only relatives in Arda, and he had been denied the chance to know them. Nervousness mixed with anger and frustration. Elros had everything, and now he wanted to flaunt it in front of his lesser sibling, the one who spent his days idly pottering in his workshop in Lindon, unmarried, childless, and likely to remain so indefinitely.

As they came out of the tower and crossed the square, Elrond’s heart yelled at him to turn around and go back, to say he was leaving and abandon this effort. Elros had calculated this whole affair, he decided. Orchestrated it to introduce Elrond only when it suited him, having kept him distant all those years. Bitterly, he wondered if he was just an amusement. Perhaps he would be the night’s entertainment. He began to think that Elros might have wanted him there to show his newfound subjects just how far their king had come, having abandoned the ‘decadent Eldar’. He wanted to be furious with Elros for this. He wanted to scream at him and storm off, back to his comfortable life amongst the elves. In his heart, though, he knew that he could not blame Elros for his success, no matter how horrid it made him feel.

The argument, after all, had been mostly his fault.

They came to a stone arch, beyond which a flight of stairs descended towards ornamental gardens. Since the daylight was beginning to fade, the palace staff kept lanterns burning amongst the flowers and bushes. The lights formed a hazy path, like a string of will o’ the wisps, showing Elrond the way. Vardamir paused and touched him lightly on the arm, almost as if he could sense the hurt that filled him.

“My father wanted this to be perfect,” he said quietly. “He wants you here. As do we all…uncle.”

Elrond faltered. He wanted to yell at his newly discovered nephew and tell him exactly what he thought of Elros and his ‘careful planning’. He wanted to show them that he would not be manipulated just because Elros had decided that it was to his advantage to have a brother again. His heart protested violently and the sickness returned to his stomach. The words, however, stuck in his throat. He no longer knew if he was furious or terrified.

He had come so far, he told himself.

He stood for a long time, Vardamir waiting patiently by his side, contemplating the archway, before he finally summoned the courage to step through.


IV

Elros chose a spot in the heart of the gardens, where the lamplight was soft and the willows hung delicately in a flowing curtain. A small fountain trickled noisily in the centre of a paved terrace, the sound like childish giggling filling the air. There was a stone bench beneath the trees to one side, where Elros thought they might sit later, if things went well.

Although he barely showed it, Elros had never felt this anxious in his life. He had not been concerned when this meeting was just a carefully plotted idea but now that he was in the garden, now that Elrond was expected any moment, it was an entirely different matter.

A voice inside him warned him that Elrond might not come, not if he was still as stubborn as he had been in his youth. Elrond had always been the headstrong one, frustrated when his brother failed to share his enthusiasm. He felt things so deeply, Elros mused. Every decision was a blow to Elrond’s heart. He was filled with such passion and drive that Elros often envied him, and wondered on several occasions if Elrond might not have made the better ruler.

Despite their differences, however, Elros longed to see his brother again, no matter how awkward their meeting might be. He understood things far better and knew that his anger had been unfounded. He only regretted that it had taken so long to fathom that. Perhaps that was a side effect of his choice, he mused, finding a deeper understanding. Knowing that his life would one day end, with no idea of what would lie beyond death, maybe he could appreciate his circumstances more ably.

He sat on the edge of the fountain to wait and ran over his plans for the feast to calm his nerves. He was glad as he thought of his children being there to welcome Elrond. Yet he could not help, as he pictured them, but think of each life slowly winding towards its conclusion. Although he understood the choice he had made, now better than ever, and knew that theirs was a blessed existence, he could not bring himself to like the idea of parting from them, knowing how he had ached when his wife had passed away.

Losing her had cleared his mind. He knew he had no time to waste. As soon as he had realised that, he knew he had to reforge his ties with Elrond. After all, Elrond would be left behind and if things were left unresolved, Elrond would dwell alone, a life as long as Arda’s to contemplate his grief. Elros hoped his children would follow Vardamir’s example and embrace him. They would be Elrond’s future.

He wrung his hands, the sounds of the dying day forming a fog around him. He wore a sombre expression, his gaze unfocused. Then finally he heard the rustle of silk against the stones.

He looked up towards the archway.


TBC


Chapter 2 - Part Two

The Spectre at the Feast

Part Two

I

Their eyes met and the brothers studied each other’s faces. For a while there seemed to be no other place in the world besides that one garden terrace, where the two identical figures struggled to find something to say that would break the silence of half a century.

An icy shiver ran down Elrond’s back. He forgot every one of his rehearsed speeches and simply stared, wondering how his brother could look so different and yet be exactly as he expected him to be. He could not read Elros’ expression, but a glowing aura of nobility surrounded him. He rose from the fountain’s edge and stood straight-backed, regally austere, emanating authority. He embodied everything Elrond had envied him for; success, confidence and surety. Elrond, numbed and bewildered, bowed to him.

Elros stared at him, outwardly implacable. Elrond looked radiant, exactly as Elros had imagined him – a lord of the Eldar in fine robes with jewels in his hair, gleaming with life and the power of his ancient ancestry. He wore a sagacious frown and his eyes sparkled with intellect and passion. He seemed far older than Elros remembered, yet at the same time appeared no different, as if his youth and maturity somehow mingled, fashioning an immortal being more awesome than Elros could have foreseen.

Elros watched his brother bow and parted his lips in surprise. Holding himself as rigid as ever, he walked slowly towards Elrond, waiting for him to straighten before he offered his hand. Elrond paused then accepted, never once breaking eye contact. Elros breathed deeply and pulled him forward into an embrace.

They held each other for what felt like an age. Elrond closed his eyes, relief rushing through him like water through a broken dam, although his mind still reeled. He found himself gripping Elros’ shoulders tightly, clinging to him as he had done when they were children, as Elros defended him from his imagined terrors.

Elros drew back first and held his brother at arms’ length, gazing at him until he knew every detail of Elrond’s face and form. Still neither one spoke, but both stared, open-mouthed, urging words to come. Finally Elros inhaled sharply and made a visible effort to compose himself.

“I’m glad you came,” he said. He brushed Elrond’s hair back from his face and touched his cheek lightly. “I’ve missed you.”

Elrond still had no idea what he ought to say. He allowed Elros to guide him across the terrace to the stone bench where they sat together, surrounded by fireflies that danced around the air, glowing brighter than the lanterns. Other insects chirped and whispered in amongst the flowers, providing a steady rhythm to the rapidly falling night, while a host of nocturnal songbirds serenaded the brothers from the far side of the gardens. For a long time, Elros let the host of soothing sounds and the mingled scents of many fragrant trees seep around them, hoping that, given a moment’s peace, Elrond might relax. He felt a surge of satisfaction, knowing his choice of location had been a wise one.

“I trust your journey was safe and pleasant,” Elros went on at last. “And your room here? It’s to your liking?”

“It’s very fine,” replied Elrond. “Fine. Everything here seems very…”

“Fine?” laughed Elros.

Elrond glanced away, suddenly very interested in the flora.

“I’m fairly proud of how the palace turned out,” Elros continued. “Though, I shan’t go into the tale of its construction. I still shudder when I recall some of the disasters we encountered, though I imagine it all adds to the character of the place. My children are already competing for a place by your side, to show you every inch of the kingdom. I’m glad they take such pride in it. Often I wondered, when they were young, if I hadn't been hasty, to deny them the life of the Eldar, but they love Númenor as though they could never consider any other existence.”

“I didn’t realise you had children,” Elrond told him quietly. “If I had known, I should have brought gifts. And for your grandchildren.”

“Your being here is a gift to them. Surely you saw that in Vardamir?” said Elros with a dry laugh. “I must beg your forgiveness at having neglected to keep you informed, as my life progressed. But you must understand, what with things the way they were…”

“You speak as if things have changed?” asked Elrond, not unkindly.

“Well they have,” answered Elros, pulling his shoulders back slightly. “Of course they have.” He shuffled and smoothed his tunic. “I’ve arranged a feast tonight. A celebration. That my little brother has finally come to see me.”

Elrond glowered. “I am not your ‘little’ brother.”

Elros smiled. “I was born first, if you recall.”

“We were begotten in the same instant. Therefore neither of us is older.”

“Well, you will always be my little brother.” Elros reached across to tousle Elrond’s hair, but Elrond jerked his head away instinctively, turning his gaze to the rows of sleeping birds amongst the trees. Elros sagged slightly and withdrew his hand.

“But you must tell me everything,” he continued, maintaining a light hearted tone. “You’ve seen my kingdom, or part of it at least. You know what has become of me. So what of you? Tell me each detail. What have you done over the years?”

Elrond glanced around, embarrassment warming his cheeks. “I’ve done nothing to compare to this,” he replied, waving a hand around to indicate the city.

Elros studied him, spotting the slight flush in Elrond’s face. A surge of guilt raced through him and he quickly thought of something he could say to ease the situation.

“It’s been nearly five hundred years,” he said. “I don’t much care if you haven’t raised a city or built a palace. I want to know how your life has been. Are you happy in Lindon? What sort of things do you do there?”

Elrond forced a smile, recognising that he was on the brink of self-pity once again. It took a deep sigh to drag him out of the mood. “I’m quite happy,” he answered. “I live a fairly modest, ordinary life there, though. Your would probably fall asleep, were I to tell you every detail of my day.” Elros laughed kindly and placed a hand on Elrond’s shoulder for a moment, his expression urging him to continue.

“I built myself a workshop by Gil-galad’s house,” Elrond went on. “And eventually I shall have a library there. I’m only building my collection at the moment. I have done some research into the arts of healing and endeavour some day to produce a catalogue of herbs that can be used to tend the body. I only work upon elves at the moment, but some day I wish to study the ailments of men too.” He shrugged. “So that is my life, really. I potter, experiment, scribble down my thoughts. Occasionally Gil-galad calls upon me for an opinion on some matter, but that happens only rarely, since we live in peace at present, and may the Valar allow us to continue so.”

“May it be,” echoed Elros.

Elrond smiled awkwardly, his confidence returning somewhat, although the shock of their meeting still rattled through him. “I also recently decided to set down some of our history, so that there might be a tangible record. It’s very rough at the moment. But that is how I spend most of my time. As I said, rather boring.”

“My son would not think it so. Vardamir spends a good deal of his time reading and writing. He has some knowledge of the plants here, a great interest in them in fact. He has a fascination for the trees and flowers given to us, in watching them grow and adapt to our soil, and in finding their uses. You two would have much in common. I do hope you’ll remain friends.”

“I look forward to it,” answered Elrond. He knew Elros was trying to put him at ease, unaware that he was pointing out the very inadequacies that Elrond had fretted over, and told himself that he should be glad. His brother was obviously trying to mend the divide between them, for whatever reason. He reminded himself that he wanted the same thing. He wanted to look upon Elros again as a beloved sibling. However awkward he felt, he knew he had to suppress it. He smiled again. “It’s strange to think I have family.”

“Six great-nieces and nephews,” Elros told him proudly. “You’ll have generations of my line clamouring for the affections of their favourite uncle. Have you any of your own?”

Elrond shook his head.

“Married?”

“No,” said Elrond, pulling himself up straighter as he sat.

“Leaving it late,” remarked Elros. “Or do you have so many women fighting for your hand that you find it hard to choose?”

“No one seems particularly interested in my hand. Or any other part of me for that matter.”

“Then they must be blind, in body and in spirit. For my brother is almost as handsome as I am.” He kept his expression serious but flicked a glance towards Elrond, just in time to see him draw in breath to protest, before he realised he was being teased. Elrond almost looked ready to laugh, but the gesture died before it could manifest properly.

“I’m quite content as I am,” he said, while his tone betrayed his real sentiment. Elros’ heart sank a little, sensing the loneliness already gripping his brother.

“Well,” Elros breathed, “if you are ever in need of family and you still refuse to start your own, you will always find a welcome here.”

Elrond rose slowly and went over to the fountain, where he stood gazing into the water, watching the lamplight paint the surface with flecks of gold. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the welcome, Elros,” he sighed.

“Only you’re wondering why it’s taken me so long to offer it?” finished Elros. “I can still read your eyes, brother. I thought perhaps we might have changed so much that we would be strangers, but it is not the case.”

Elrond turned to face him, folding his arms. “I’m glad you asked me here,” he answered. “Even if I don’t understand why, suddenly, you decided to do so.”

“I will not deny that the decision was an arduous one. After all this time, I did wonder if there might be nothing left to salvage. Yet I hoped this was not the case, and I owed it to myself, as much as to my family, to try and recover our bond.”

“So what now do you want from me?”

Elros stood and held out his hands. “I want nothing from you, save to include you in my kin as I ought to have done from the outset. I know we cannot undo what happened between us on the shores of Lindon. What was said was said, and none can change that. You may never come to agree with my choice, and that is your right. But I no longer wish it to come between us. I for one am sorry for my words. They were spoken out of frustration for the most part. I propose that we abandon the feud, and commit what time there is left to living as brothers once more.”

Elrond faltered, taken aback at hearing these words at last. “You know I would want the same,” he admitted, “but…this is rather sudden, you’ll admit. We’ve spoken not a word in almost five hundred years.”

“I know. Elrond, I have my reasons. Believe me, I have thought long and hard on what passed between us, examined each word. Now, we have spent so many years at odds with one another, let us try tonight to start anew.”

Elrond stared thoughtfully at him and shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Things have happened, Elrond,” said Elros gravely. “Let us say simply that I know the full extent of what is to come. I will not be at odds with you any longer.”

He stood waiting for Elrond’s reply, steeling himself and reassuring himself that he had thought this through and that he saw the glimmer of longing in Elrond’s eyes. Elrond wanted to forgive him just as he wanted to forgive Elrond, he told himself.

Elrond glanced away. He shuffled on the spot and breathed uneasily. “I have no desire to feud with you,” he said at last. “In all my life, I have only wanted you by my side as my brother. But perhaps I find it harder to forget than you do. I cannot simply put aside all that was said at your request, in the space of a moment, however much I want to. Perhaps because I was as much to blame as you were. It is easy to forgive you, Elros, but harder still is to forgive myself.”

“Then would you agree, if not to reconcile with me right now, to at least spend some time in my company, since you are here? Let us speak nothing more of this matter tonight. I have given you much to think about, and I am still overjoyed at seeing you again. We shall enjoy the feast, and you may have time to contemplate. But know that even if you decide you cannot forgive the past, my welcome still extends.”

Elrond nodded solemnly.

Elros placed his hand on Elrond’s shoulder. “Come,” he said. “The light’s failing and my family will be growing impatient. They do so want to meet you.”


II

410 years earlier

Elros burst from the tent so rapidly that the canvas fluttered and trembled in his wake. He charged down the dune, brushed by dry grass and sea breezes, and scrambled to the beach, where his feet found better purchase on the rounded pebbles and shale.

“Elrond, will you wait!”

Elrond was already by the water’s edge, hurrying along the thick, darkened sand, moving so quickly that he left only the faintest of footprints. Elros sneered, his way of controlling the rising anger and concern brewing inside him.

“Elrond!” he yelled again. He rushed through a flock of white seagulls pecking at the seaweed and sent them cawing into a frenzy overhead. Elrond paused, hearing the sound and looked over his shoulder, his expression dark and implacable. Elros kept running until there was only a yard or so between them, then he halted to regard Elrond in return, shaking his head as he tried to understand.

“Will you listen to me?” he implored.

Elrond folded his arms and turned away, walking off along the shore. The sea lapped against him, soaking the hem of his robes and the suede of his boots. Elros followed.

“I will not beg you for a moment of your time! You are my brother!”

“Is that so?” asked Elrond, turning fiercely upon him. “Forgive me, but given what you have just said, I wondered if you wouldn’t rather sever your bonds with us completely.”

“Elrond, you are being foolish. If you would only stop for a moment and listen to me, rather than bursting into a flurry of indignation, you might understand what I am trying to tell you.”

“I understand perfectly, Lord of the Edain. You no longer wish to associate yourself with me or my kind.”

“That is not what I said at all.” Elros sighed and rubbed his brow. “This decision is hard enough without your childishness, Elrond. This does not concern you.”

“Does not concern me? My brother would rather die than live by my side…”

“You know better than that,” Elros reproached him, standing rigid with his shoulders back. Elrond relented slightly but maintained a pout of displeasure.

“Why, Elros?” he asked. “If…if it were a question of love, I could understand, but what will you gain from this? A kingdom? You would throw away the life of the Eldar for glory?”

Elros shook his head. “For a chance at a life that suits me. Too long have I lived in pretence, Elrond. This has never been the way for me. I have never been truly one with the Eldar. That alone is at the bottom of my choice. I can create my own life, as it stands. I can shape my fate, rather than relying on the destiny of Arda to rule me. I say not that it is a foul thing to live like the Eldar but only that it is not for me, can’t you understand that?”

“But why?” asked Elrond again. “What have we done to you? Why would you hate us so, that you can no longer bear to live amongst us?”

“It is not that way,” Elros sighed. “Please, Elrond, I can barely explain to you, for I cannot express it in words in my own mind. Only know that I bear you no ill, nor the elves and their ways. Yet I know I shall never be happy if I stay here in Lindon. The Valar have given us a gift. I have sat with the Edain and listened to the teachings of Ëonwë with them. I have felt the anticipation in their hearts, fresh as the wind that brought the nine ships to these shores. The Edain will make a journey that marks a new era. They have a new land, and a chance to start afresh, forsaking the sorrow of the Elder Days.” He held himself very straight and glanced towards the sea. “And they would trust me with the future of that fledgling nation. Can’t you see what grace is given me? Of all the heroes of the former age, of all the warriors and sages of the Edain, the Valar have chosen me to do this. And I shall not fail them. When the Valar summon us, we will sail to Númenorë. My choice is made, Elrond, there is no going back now. I only hoped you might offer your support. Out of love if not from agreement.”

“You speak of love,” shouted Elrond as Elros began to head back to the tents and huts that gave temporary shelter to the Edain. “Yet you would leave me. As always, I have been forgotten. Am I so loathsome, that none of my kin can bear to be with me? My parents are but a dream to me, faces I distantly recall. Maglor left without a backwards glance and now you? What is to become of me, when you sail to your new and wondrous realm? I shall drift on through eternity until at last I fade, remembered by no one. So do not speak to me of love. If you prize the Edain and their ways above me and above our history, then go. Do not look back.”

“I commit no evil by my choice!” yelled Elros. “Do not burden me with that! This is not about you, Elrond, it is about my life!”

“Then go. Enjoy your life. Do not let me stand in your path.”

Elrond raced off, disappearing around the curve of the bay. He climbed a rock and sat on a ledge, dusted by dry sand, hidden from sight yet with a view across the sea. He hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face in his arms, remaining there, curled and weeping, until the sun sank into the rippling ocean.

He lay on the ledge, shivering as the night fell and the cold sharpened, but eventually his eyes closed and sleep overtook him. He did not dream, and when at last the morning light forced him to awaken, he felt as shaken and exhausted as when he had lain down. He passed the early hours thinking deeply, furious at his own selfishness and cursing himself that he could not learn to stay silent. Yet no matter how often he told himself he should accept Elros’ decision, he still brooded, the world closing in around him to show him just how alone and insignificant he really was.

He sniffed and dabbed at his eyes, and only then noticed that a star shone brightly above the oceans, its light so great that even with the sun risen and daylight spread across the clouds, its gleam still painted the undulating waters a pure and beautiful silver.

As he stood he saw the ships, which had sat prepared, awaiting the call of the Valar, set forth at last in the direction of that light. He could not see Elros, as the ships were too far for him to make out individual faces on the decks, but he knew that his brother was amongst those departing. Elros hadn't even sought him out to say goodbye.

Elrond lowered his head and slowly walked along the lonely road towards the Havens.

“What is wrong with me?” he whispered through his tears. “Why must they all leave?”

“Would you care for some more?”

Elrond jerked out of his reverie and found a bottle beneath his nose. He glanced up at Vardamir and saw him smile, evidently waiting for an answer to a question Elrond hadn't heard.

“Sorry?”

“Have you enough to drink?”

“Oh,” said Elrond and waved the bottle away with a smile. The feasting hall rattled with voices, laughter and music, a fog of people surrounding Elrond, all with familiar faces. Elros’ family filled the table, chattering and giggling excitedly amongst themselves, their eyes darting towards Elrond every few seconds. He could vaguely remember some of their names, but there were so many that most were a blur.

Elros meanwhile observed everything slyly, staying very close to his brother and yet maintaining a respectful distance through unobtrusive conversation. Above all he wanted Elrond to reach the right decision and he was determined not to intimidate him, however eager he was to gain his brother’s trust once more.

He saw the distracted, slightly forlorn glimmer in Elrond’s eyes and guessed the subject matter of his thoughts. Strangely Elros no longer felt awkward or apprehensive when he looked upon him, although a faint whisper of sorrow remained in his heart, weakly taunting him that Elrond might never come back to him. He remained calm, however, as he now knew he had tried, and that there was nothing more he could do to win Elrond’s love.

Finally the feast drew to its conclusion and the energy waned as the company drifted off towards their beds. Midnight had sailed past unnoticed, and as Elros and Elrond stepped out of the hall they were greeted by an unexpected blast of chilly night air.

Elrond remarked that Elros had not yet left his side, and walked with him to his room. They passed along the lofty halls and corridors, stepping through the shadows where the lamps had not yet been lit or did not reach. Elros stayed silent and Elrond recognised that he was being offered a chance to think. He was glad of it, since he had been unable to pull himself from his memories all evening.

He cringed as he remembered that day and recalled the whining tone of his voice. He had not realised just how much older he was, and how much wiser, until he found himself looking upon the scene again. The memory gnawed at him all throughout their walk, as they ascended the stairwell within the tower towards Elrond’s chamber. He knew how foolish and how self-pitying he had acted, and was still acting in fact. That was what irked him most, that despite all his wisdom and years, he had stepped into his brother’s company and become a selfish youth again. He knew he should fight against the urges. He had to make a formidable effort to remember who he was and what he was, and to let that status give him the confidence to turn things his way. Elros wanted peace between them, and when Elrond examined himself properly, he knew that he wanted the same.

As they reached the door to his room, Elrond turned and stood in Elros’ path. He copied Elros’ usual practise of drawing in a slow, deep breath to steady himself, and then pulled himself to his full height. “Must you go, or would you stay with me a while? I take it your hospitality extends to your cellars?”
Elros laughed. “Of course. There ought to be a bottle of some rather good wine from Nísimaldar in there already.”

They drifted inside and Elros poured out the wine from a crystal decanter. Elrond wandered to the fire and stood calmly by the roaring blaze, sighing as he controlled the tension welling inside him. Strangely, however, he no longer felt nauseous or uneasy. In fact he almost felt like laughing, and when he finally turned to Elros, he wore a broad and benevolent smile. Despite his composure, Elros showed a spark of intrigue and alarm at the change in his brother’s stance.

“I thought tomorrow,” said Elros, “we might head out of the city. Let you see a little more of the kingdom. By far the most beautiful parts are its hidden spots. I know of many.”

“I should like that very much,” replied Elrond. They paused and considered each other, then both began to speak at the same instant. Elros laughed.

“Please, go on,” he said.

Elrond smiled distantly and leaned on the mantelpiece. “What I would say is only that I appreciate your words to me earlier. It cannot have been easy to call me here. No more than it was easy for me to answer your request. And since I arrived, I have been somewhat awkward, and I would ask that you forgive me.”

“I think we both have said and done too many things,” sighed Elros.

Elrond frowned thoughtfully and clasped his goblet in both hands, wandering a little across the room. “I need no time for contemplation, Elros. Of course I would want to consider you my brother again. I came here with that hope in my heart, for that reason alone.”

“Good,” said Elros. “Good, then tomorrow we can spend the day without this shadow over us.”

Elrond nodded. “I have behaved appallingly towards you, both in the past and on this day.” Before Elros could protest, he smiled and went on, “I know that you thought it of me then. A spoiled child who refused to see that what you were doing had consequences beyond me and my life. You’re right, Elros. It is easy to say that now. It is easy to see that now. I understand…” He studied the contents of his wine goblet with a distant smile. “…How tiresome I was in my youth. Unfortunately some of that has stayed with me. Perhaps that is a consequence of my choice.”

“I loved you nevertheless,” laughed Elros. “Though you did strain me at times.”

“If I have behaved unkindly to you and your children since I arrived here, then I offer my apologies. Perhaps, seeing you, I forgot just who I really am, and that I am no longer that youth.” He sighed and returned his gaze to the cup. “I gave great thought to that day, though it embarrasses me to remember my conduct, I must say. One thing though that I must say to you, before we try to end this strife.”

“Name it.”

“That day, when you sailed to Númenor. There was one thing I regretted most of all, and the one embarrassment that prevented me from contacting you myself – after all, it would have been far easier for me to come by Círdan’s ships than it was for you to send word. I am truly sorry that I was not there to see you go. In my heart, despite our quarrel, I wanted to be with you when you started on your journey. Only I slept beyond the dawn, and when I awoke, (in rather a sorry condition having spent the night on a rock), you had already left, and your ships were too far distant for my voice to reach you. Yet I called out all the same and wished that Ulmo would take you safely to your new shores.”

Elros blinked and straightened then laughed dryly. “I had hoped that was the case,” he said, smiling. “My anger told me you had stayed away out of spite. It seems my heart on the other hand knew the truth all along.”

Elrond returned his smile and looked away. “Well then I have said it. That Gil-galad’s chief advisor was once stubborn, spoiled and stupid.”

“Was once?” said Elros, then the brothers laughed together. “Well, the king of Númenor could be said to be no better. Why do we not agree to forget all this?”

“I shall drink to that.”

They stayed together for a few hours more, until the wine was fully drained, and they talked freely for the first time since their reunion. No detail of either life was spared. Finally as dawn’s light spread across the skies outside and the last stars began to fade, Elros got up and headed for the door.

“Well,” he said, “if we are going to see some of the country today, then I had better rally up my staff and have horses made ready.”

He paused once more by the door and sighed, a wide grin spreading for a moment over his lips. “You cannot know how glad this has made me, brother. Things are complete now.”

The strange tone in his voice made Elrond sit a little straighter as he watched his brother go. Rising and turning in a swift movement, Elrond peered out of his window and saw Elros cross the square below. He paused when he reached the centre and gazed for a long time at the buildings and sculptures, and Elrond realised what his instincts were trying to tell him. He sighed deeply and cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.

“So that is why you want me here,” he muttered to himself.


Chapter 3 - Part Three

The Spectre at the Feast

Part Three

I

Elrond said nothing of his suspicions. Somehow it felt wrong to disturb the fresh and relaxed atmosphere between him and Elros. As Elrond’s visit progressed they became increasingly at ease with one another and Elrond relished the feeling. He had not shared secrets or gossip or dreams with his brother since childhood, and when he did so again, it felt as if there were no cares in the world worth bothering about. Elrond could not bring himself to spoil the atmosphere with talk of things to come, for Elros’ sake as well as his own.

Their ‘short trip around the countryside’ soon turned into a journey lasting months, until there was no region of the island unseen. Elrond remained by Elros’ side and refused to be separated from him for any length of time, as they visited each city. They received a rapturous welcome wherever they went, as the people clamoured to see both their king and the great lord of the Eldar. Elrond could not quite remember when their trip together became a royal tour, but he enjoyed the experience all the same. He felt liberated to be out of Armenlos and travelling again, and there were long nights between their public appearances when they could talk together, rapidly trying to fill in the years, so he did not grudge their time with the crowds.

He lost count of how many days they spent sampling every dish and sight that Númenor had to offer, nor did he care. He forgot his desire to return to the Havens, now that he had Elros by his side, and in fact began to dread the idea of parting as they reached the final stages of their journey. No matter how long they spent together, to Elrond it did not seem long enough.

He watched Elros greeting his subjects and saw the looks of love and loyalty in their eyes, making him feel all the more foolish for having doubted Elros’ choice. He saw then that Elros’ decision was not only made for himself. He had given hope to this nation, leading them out of the ruins of Beleriand to a new life. A slight twinge of jealousy returned, but this time without malice, as Elrond wondered if he could have made the decision. He imagined he would have been willing to sacrifice his immortality for the sake of a people whom he loved, yet imagining and actually making that choice were two completely different matters.

His admiration for his brother continued to grow throughout their journey, especially when he listened to Elros describing the different lands or flowers or rocks and telling how they came to be on the island. There was such pride and passion in his eyes, despite his attempts to maintain his kingly composure. Elros had found his place in life, Elrond thought. He had made himself a home where he could be happy, and where he knew exactly what destiny required of him. Elrond only hoped that he might find that solace one day.

When at last they returned to Armenlos, however, Elrond noticed a slight shift in Elros’ mood. He had the same serene, settled expression upon his face that he had shown after their feast at the palace and all throughout their trip, but a glimmer of something deeper lit his eyes. His rigid stance and tightened muscles seemed relaxed at last and he wore the faint traces of a knowing smile across his lips as he drifted through the everyday routines of the palace.

One morning, Elrond watched him cagily over the breakfast table and tried to fathom Elros’ inner thoughts, wondering if he should say what he knew, or rather what he suspected, whilst at the same time trying to read his brother’s eyes for prompts and signals.

All the time he was vaguely aware that Elros was watching him too. Both tried very hard to conceal the effort, and neither succeeded. Elros waited patiently, wondering if Elrond knew what was to come, and finally decided that his brother at least suspected the truth. Then he studied him furtively to see if Elrond would voice his thoughts, and debated whether he should confess. There would never be a ‘right time’ for news such as he had to deliver, Elros concluded, sipping his herbal tea thoughtfully.

“When you return,” he said conversationally, leaning his elbows on the table, “you must tell the Eldar that they are welcome here. Too few of them come from Mithlond to see us. Círdan and Gil-galad ought to visit. My children would make them welcome. And you, of course. You must return and see Vardamir again.”

Elrond pulled his shoulders back, his gaze fixed intently on Elros. “Shall I not return and see you again?” he asked, clasping his hands.

Elros paused, his heart frozen for a moment, until the relief splashed over him when he realised that the subject was broached at last. He almost wanted to thank Elrond for having taken the first step. “So you do know?”

Elrond’s heart stopped. Secretly he had not wanted to be right, even though he knew the time would inevitably come. “Why suddenly you wanted me here? What it was that changed and made the need for reconciliation more urgent?”

“Why did you stay silent?”

Elrond gave him a dry look and breathed calmly. “I imagined that you did not want it voiced, since you said nothing yourself.”

Elros shrugged. “It is my choice,” he said, staring idly at the window. “And I know now that it is the right time to make it. I said nothing because I have enjoyed these last few weeks so much. I had no urge to spoil it. And I imagined we would have time enough to discuss this before you left. I wanted to speak of this with you, until I am certain that you understand and that I have your blessing. I want no more animosity between us, and no ill feeling to linger on beyond my departure. I have done everything I wanted to in this life, and now I’m ready to face my final challenge. This has been greater than I could ever have asked – to spend my last days with you. I cannot thank you enough for giving me that chance, Elrond.”

“You have no need to thank me. And although I could never be glad to see us parted, since we have only just discovered each other, I will make no trouble for you. I understand what you must do. I almost envy you for it. To have control of your fate…”

Elros tidied his plate and cutlery and then brushed a few stray crumbs from his lap. Elrond continued to observe him, pressing his hands to his lips in thought.

“When?” he asked.

Elros inhaled slowly. “If I gather all my family around me there will be grief and sorrow, and I would feel abhorrent for bringing that upon them. I cannot dream of what this journey may entail for me, and I would begin it in peace, knowing that all I leave behind is well.”

Elrond nodded. “I can understand that. So will your children.”

“I’ve already spoken of the matter with them. Our compromise has been reached and they will hold a feast for me in the hall. I will visit for a time, to say my farewells, then I will take myself to Noirinan where my bed is prepared.”

Elrond smiled distantly. He could almost see his brother’s mind working keenly to plot out every detail. To the last moment, Elros would steer his own destiny. “Would you want me with you, or with them in the hall?”

Elros paused. “If you would stay with me to the end,” he sighed. “You alone. Then when my time is done, would you go to my children? I know what a burden I place on you, yet I would want no other to break the news, and they will have need of your wisdom and guidance in their grief. I understand that you’ve known them barely a few months, but…”

“I will stay with them until I am content that all is well,” Elrond promised. “And you have my word that if any of your children or their descendants are in need, they will find sanctuary with me, wherever the world may take me. You may be gone beyond my sights, but I will still look upon them as my children.”

Elros breathed deeply.

“We have come so far in so short a time,” he laughed. “Who would have thought we could sit and talk like brothers again?”

They passed the remainder of the morning in silence, a strange air of calm falling over the palace, as if the last ghosts had finally been laid to rest. Elros sipped his tea, bathing in relief and gladness as he realised everything had been settled at last.

Things had worked out far better than he could have wished.


II

They timed their journey to arrive in the Noirinan valley just as dusk was settling over the land. The stone mausoleum sat in the shade of the Holy Mountain, in amongst a cluster of white flowers and long, delicate grasses. The tomb had been made ready several years before, yet looked as though it had stood there for several thousand years. Although the road from Armenlos reached down to the valley, there was no other sign of construction or manmade intrusion in sight, and a sleepy silence hung over the place.

They left their horses on the road and walked over the soft carpet of grass and wild flowers until they stood facing the mausoleum. Elros read his name above the lintel and took a moment to compose himself, imagining the door of the tomb would lead not into a cold, empty chamber but to a road, wending off into the distance towards a world no living being had seen. As he contemplated the image, a flutter of large wings broke the silence. The brothers glanced upwards in unison as three of the great eagles circled the summit of the mountain then descended towards the valley. They perched on the roof of the mausoleum and then became quiet, silent witnesses to the event. Elros imagined they would take the news of his parting to the Valar, and tell them that their appointed king had at last reached his time.

“Here end the days of Elros Tar-Minyatur, first king of Númenor,” he addressed the birds quietly. “I have passed my sceptre to my son, and now I am ready to depart this world. And I give thanks to the Valar for affording me the honour of kingship, and to Eru for affording me the gift of men.”

Elrond clasped his hands. He could sense the importance of the moment in the air and silently added a prayer of his own, that Elros’ journey would be safe and that whatever fate lay beyond his mortal life, that he would find the happiness he had earned. As the words passed through his mind, Elrond felt the first tears threatening to erupt, but steeled himself.

Finally, after a moment’s silence, Elros finished his own private prayers and moved towards the tomb. Elrond came to his side and walked with him. They stood together on the threshold for a moment, exchanging glances, then Elrond laid his hand on his brother’s arm so that he would know he was not alone. They went inside and paused once again to take in the scene.

Elros’ gaze was drawn instantly towards the left side of the tomb, where a marble sarcophagus already sat. On it lay an effigy in stone of his queen, so like her that he almost wept and wanted to touch the smooth contours of her face one last time. He refrained, however, knowing that it was only an image in stone. He could never prepare himself for the shock of seeing that grave, no matter how many times he visited. Yet this time the feeling was tempered slightly by the faint hope that she might await him.

His attention then turned to a low bier set out for him in the middle of the tomb. His children had each left a wreath of brightly coloured flowers, their way of being with him in the end, whether he permitted them to stand by him or not. The gesture touched him deeply and caused a faint smile to appear on his lips. The flowers, piled up on either side of the bed, filled the tomb with sweet and dusky scents, freshening the air and again prompting Elros to think of his road, and of the beautiful undiscovered country it might lead to. In that moment he felt the longing in him intensify. He wanted to see that new land more than anything else.

“It feels strange,” he said, his voice echoing around the cool stone interior. “To come to the moment at last.”

“Do not be afraid,” Elrond whispered.

“I am not afraid,” replied Elros, and meant it sincerely. “Quite the opposite. Who knows where I will awaken next? But somehow I know it will be fair and free.”

Elrond tightened his grip on Elros’ arm, smiling though his heart felt heavy. He knew Elros did not want to see him grieve and kept himself strong with that in mind.

“Wherever you go,” he said, “you know that we will be thinking of you. I will see you each time I look into your sons’ eyes. And in their sons’ eyes too.”

“And they will see me when they look upon you. You must all take care of one another.”

“You have my word on that.”

Elros glanced towards the bier, staring at it as if he could hear it calling to him. He approached slowly and stood at the foot of it, looking down on the pillows and white sheets.

“Ah well,” he breathed. “Then I suppose it is time.”

Elrond watched him drift towards the bier and lie down, the he went over to sit by Elros’ side. He remained silent, gazing down solemnly. His heart wanted to beg Elros to stay a while longer and yearned for just a few moments more, but he knew not to voice his thoughts. He felt a dull ache inside him at the thought of parting forever from his brother, whose love he had only just begun to feel again. Yet at the same time, Elros’ air of serenity affected him deeply, so that as Elrond looked down, his grief was soothed a little. He could see that Elros was ready to depart and had no fear of the unknown fate awaiting his spirit.

No matter how many times they had said their farewells, however, Elrond still felt that he had not truly said goodbye.

“Will you stay until I sleep?” asked Elros, closing his eyes.

“Of course,” Elrond replied.

Elros lay with his hands clasped over his chest. Elrond laid his hand over his brother’s.

He studied Elros’ features, watching his brother’s chest gently rising with each breath and waiting, with a cold feeling of expectation, for that movement to cease. Elros kept his eyes closed and smiled peacefully, while his brother’s heartbeat raced. Elrond wanted to weep and felt that he should do so at such a moment, but no tears came to him. Then suddenly Elros inhaled sharply. Elrond held his breath.

“This is not the end for the sons of Ëarendil,” Elros whispered. “Our time has only just begun.”

With a final smile, Elros fell silent and breathed out slowly, letting his chest sink.

Elrond lowered his head. He waited a moment more until he was certain, then brushed Elros’ hair, whispering a final farewell, before he left Elros to his rest.


III

The ship’s timbers creaked softly as she was rocked by the gentle waves lapping at Rómenna’s harbour. She was not quite ready to sail, and so Elrond waited on the quayside, listening to the squawks and cries of dozens of seabirds along the shore, and to the hushed whispers of the ocean. The air was bright and sharpened by sea salt and the smell of cooked fish, yet the place felt foreign to Elrond once again. He knew in his heart that he wanted to return home and found himself gazing across the misty waters, trying to pick out shapes on the horizon that could be the shores of Lindon.

He would have a great deal to talk about when he arrived back, he mused. Few of the Eldar there had ever crossed the seas to look on Númenor, and he imagined that within a few hours of his stepping onto the shore, he would be forced to relate every last detail. With a dull feeling in his chest, however, he decided that he would keep his time with Elros to himself. Until he had fully come to terms with all that had happened, at least.

He wandered over the cobbled quay and let his robes brush against the sand and seaweed, while he idly watched the elves on board ship, loading the final supplies for the voyage. They seemed to be taking half of the island back with them, as far as he could see, and noticed several crates of Yavannamirë wine being passed around on deck. He didn’t relish the thought of meeting Gil-galad after that had been consumed.

Finally one of the crew came to fetch Elrond’s bags and he took that as a signal that all was ready. With a final look towards the bustling little harbour, he bid a silent farewell to Númenor and her people. It felt rather final, even though Vardamir had invited him to return the following year, to attend the coronation of the new king. Elrond had not yet decided whether he would accept or not. He knew he ought to attend, and yet his heart told him that the visit might be a little hard, after so short a time. A great part of him wanted to come, however, and see how life had progressed. He had missed so much of his brother’s world already.

As the elves hauled up the anchor and the ship drifted out of the harbour, Elrond wandered astern and looked back at the island. A crowd had formed along the seafront, waving and cheering as soon as the ship set sail. Above them, on one of the higher roads, Elrond saw Vardamir and his son, who would succeed Elros since Vardamir’s age was too great. They both waved, and Elrond noticed that the look of familial love had not left their eyes as they gazed towards him. For a moment he felt as though he left his own children behind.

The elves unfurled the mainsail and the ship picked up speed. Númenor gradually shrank into the distance. As Elrond stared out at the glassy waters and watched the sun paint the waves gold and silver, he tried to order his thoughts. Despite the hollow feeling inside him, as if a part of his heart had been cut from him, he felt strangely calm. Perhaps it was because he knew he was no longer alone, even if Elros was gone. Or perhaps, he mused, it was because things had been settled. Relief washed over him again, as warm as the rippling waters around the ship, as he thought of his final time with his brother. Although their parting left an empty place within him, one of his greatest burdens had been lifted, and he had never thought it possible.

He still envied Elros a little as he thought of the choice. Elros had known exactly what he ought to do and had steered his life in whichever direction he wanted. But in the end, Elrond thought, Elros had no idea what would become of him. He met his fate willingly, despite knowing that he might fade into oblivion, or be reborn in another time and place, or travel on to a land like Valinor, only full of men whose time had passed. He was not afraid of the unknown, and in fact relished the idea of it.

So perhaps there was some good in his choice after all, Elrond mused. He faced that uncertainty every day, his life bound to the fate of Arda and subject to all the twists and turmoil of that world’s history. Who knew what would happen in a year’s time, or in a hundred or a thousand? Elrond breathed deeply and considered the future for the first time with expectation and hope. Whatever his destiny might ask of him, he would face it, just as Elros had calmly faced the end.

Elrond gave the sea one last glance, only to find that Númenor had completely faded from sight. Then with a renewed vigour and a sense of completeness that he had not felt since childhood, he ducked below deck, ready to sample some of the wine they had brought, before it too disappeared.
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