[Coire 30, Imladris, Elrond's chambers]
Ignoring the increasing chill of the dusk air, Elrond absently stared out over the valley from his private balcony, aimlessly observing the deepening twilight cover his home. The intensifying canopy of azure painted the trees in their nightly coating of star-kissed stillness, yet the coming of the night brought neither the promise of rest, nor the solace of comforting dreams. No, peace would not find him this night, nor had it on most nights since the dawning of this accursed age. Dreams he indeed had in abundance, yet instead of granting him much-needed peace, the vivid tapestries woven in his somnolent mind only tormented him with visions of what he could no longer have.
Pleasures he privately dreaded he would never taste again.
The piercing, bell-clear laughter of a child rang out from somewhere in the valley, innocent and guileless, such a contrast to the suffocating gloom in his heart. It was his young charge, Eldakar, son of Valandil, heir of Isildur. With the return of the warmth of spring, the young prince and his mother would soon return north, to Annu Minas and his rightful place at his proud father's side. And so the world goes on -- even as I do, yet without joy, without hope.
Without thinking, his right thumb instinctively began stroking the finger clasped beside it, lovingly caressing a cherished golden ring Elrond ever wore. He had found it -- and an identical mate -- patiently awaiting him underneath his pillow when he had returned home from the horrors of war and the most unbearable tragedy imaginable. Cirdan had known they were there, as had Glorfindel, yet their existence had take Elrond completely unaware. Obviously Gil-galad had not wished for them to be profaned by the taint of war's hatred and evil. No, they were a symbol of the purest of loves, and should only be worn and given as such. Gil-galad had therefore left the bands in the one place where he had found naught but love and sanctuary, hoping they would be worn in an age of peace and joy. Elrond had immediately slid his upon his finger upon their discovery, even as the tears freely streamed from his face and blessed it with his pain and loss. Its twin was safely kept in his mithril chest, next to the first ring Gil-galad had gifted upon him, awaiting the High King's release from the Halls of Mandos.
Indeed, for the first decades of this age, Elrond had nightly gazed upward to the Lady's handiwork and prayed for the swift return of his beloved from those dark chambers. Surely Gil-galad had done enough for Middle-earth to more than atone for the misdeeds of his people, and the short-comings of his own deeds?
Yet, as the years passed, each more lonely and grief-filled than the previous, Elrond became increasingly bitter. Were the Valar punishing him? Could it be that Gil-galad simply did not wish to return to him?
The sager parts of Elrond's mind knew it was unrealistic to expect Gil-galad's swift return, yet he refused to abandon all hope. Had it not taken many centuries for Glorfindel to be released, even after all he had selflessly done in the name of others? I would gladly wait all of this age for another taste of my King's lips, another moment of his warmth wrapped within my arms, just one more night of his loving of my body, and my worship of his.
How could he survive such a wait when he barely managed to bear the pain of a single lonely night? More than once Elrond had considered giving up his own life to join his mate in the Halls of Awaiting, where they could be together in spirit if not in the flesh. But he knew the ways of Mandos to be inscrutable, and there was no promise they would be reunited, even in death. Alas, his oath bound and damned him --to protect the line of Isildur, the line of his own, long-perished brother. Yes, he was bound to serve and succor his brother's line, even as his own languished, as did all hope for joy in his heart.
Elrond also understood full well that Gil-galad would not wish for him to give up his life and duty in the foolish hope of the reunion of the fea. We shall never truly be apart, shall we, Finellach? Twisting the gold ring around his finger with his thumb once more, he believed he could feel the engraved, achingly private, pet name burned into his flesh, along with one his beloved had bestowed upon him. Gil-galad had proudly used the name Elrond had given him whenever sending correspondence to Elrond's kin in Numenor, yet Elrond had never reciprocated the honor in kind. He had, instead, kept the precious gift of Gil-galad's private appellation close to his heart, in a superstitious fear that to reveal it might endanger their relationship. After a time, Gil-galad himself failed to use it, save in the most special moments of passion and love, falling to other pet names in playful moments of affection which seemed to demand them. Their lives, their fates were grim enough. Only love and bliss were allowed passage beyond their bedroom door.
So it was that even when they spent years, decades, or the occasional century apart, they remained ever as one. The lyrical words lovingly penned upon parchment strained in vain to convey the depth of need and emotion a single sweet contact of their lips could manage with far more ease and delight. But as they both knew too well they both were once and always duty's slaves. It was in their bloodlines, and the undeniable signature of the Second Age. As it is in the Third. But is it my fate to suffer my duty alone? I cannot bear to believe the Valar so cruel.
The sound of barely audible, soft, elvish footsteps gratefully interrupted his morose mental meanderings. Turning toward the sound, Elrond's pain-saturated gaze caught an equally unsettled expression on a fair, familiar face.
"My Lord, is all well?"
Elrond shook his head in instinctive response to Glorfindel's well-intentioned query. "No -- it has not been so since...." Catchinng himself just a moment before falling headlong into the chasm of utter despair, Elrond swiftly brushed a hint of moisture from the corner of one eye and with the greatest effort forced a mockery of a smile to his lips. "All is well, dear friend," he announced with feigned contentment as he tightly grasped and squeezed the other's robed shoulder. "You wish to speak to me?"
"Not I," Glorfindel answered, obvious relief fluttering in his tone. "An emissary from Lothlorien has arrived, and wishes a private audience."
Consternation raised creases in the Lord's forehead. "Would not the morn be a more appropriate time?" Elrond questioned. Seeing an insistent expression molding Glorfindel's features, he exhaled in acquiescent defeat. "As he wishes. Give me a few moments of privacy, then send him here." Not waiting for Glorfindel's nod of understanding, Elrond turned back to the railing, his breath naturally escaping as a forlorn sigh. Raising his gaze skyward, he easily spied the familiar, elegant patterns of the Lady's twinkling handiwork blazing overhead. "Why must you mock me... torment me?" he whispered, far louder than he intended.
An unanticipated voice offered an equally unexpected answer from behind him. "The stars do neither, Lord Elrond, but neither can they offer you any true peace. It would be far better to open your heart to the Lady and her kin. Only they can hear your prayers."
Elrond twisted around sharply to discover himself face to face with an unknown member of his race. Dressed in curious gray traveling clothes, the eerie combination of pale moonlight and flickering golden candlelight gave the impression of equally gray hair, worn loose around the visitor's shoulders. Not silver, as the line of Thingol, but truly gray. 'Tis a trick of the light, Elrond reasoned, As is the fire in his eyes.
Momentarily pushing away any thoughts of suspicion about the visitor's true nature, he shrugged his shoulders and his robes into a more regal posture. "The Valar have taken from me the most brilliant star which ever graced Middle-earth. What could I possible ask of them? What is there for them to give which I would want?"
"Besides the return of your beloved King, you mean," the boldly earnest stranger retorted. Elrond slowly nodded, the sorrow shimmering through his emotion-drained frame despite his wish to appear in control.
The stranger continued without hesitation, his strength of conviction unwavering. "Gil-galad fell as he was meant to, as was Eru's wish -- in the name of light and truth, protecting all he loved, including you."
"I would have gladly fallen in his place," Elrond whispered softly, his voice trembling out the final word.
"But that is not the song the Valar have composed for you, my friend. Your fate is more painful still."
Elrond spat out his own, equally certain conclusion. "To remain here, alone," he bitterly accused, pain and derision rolling off each individually enunciated syllable.
The still unidentified visitor remained calm, the only emotion in his voice the signature of self-assurance tempered with boundless compassion. "No, to remain here and carry on the work of him you loved best, and still do, and the work of all who fell in his name, and that of the Alliance. It is your burden to be sure the Darkness does not find triumph in this age."
Elrond carefully studied the curiously clear blue eyes, utterly free of any hint of storm hue. There it was again -- the lingering nag of suggestion that this visitor was far more than he originally seemed. "How might I prevent that?" he desperately beseeched, his hands begging along with his words. "I am neither a king, nor a general, nor do I wish to become either in this age. I am simply as I have been for much of the last age -- the Lord of this valley."
A smile of mystery and unspoken knowledge painted across the other's face. "You are Earendil's heir. That is sufficient. Think of the sacrifices your sire made for all the peoples of Middle-earth, and open you heart to the opportunity to do the same, if not more."
"My father had my mother by his side, to share his burden, to combine her strength with his. The Valar would have me do as much, or more, by myself?"
"Indeed, you are correct. No one should be asked to shoulder such grave responsibilities alone. You need not do so, either. You cannot do so, Elrond Peredhil. You too must combine your burden, your strength, with that of another. You will find others will freely offer to share in your sacrifices. Follow the lead of their hearts, just as surely as you have so willingly followed the call of your own before now."
Elrond turned away, unable to bear for another moment the fierily intense eyes of the stranger and the unnatural light in his inscrutable face. Staring out over his valley, his home, for a few too brief seconds, he closed his eyes as a tremble of remembered intimacy ghosted through his flesh. "You speak of others as if I could ever give my heart to any but to whom I am wed -- now and for all time."
That eerily piercing voice volleyed back with far too much ease. "You believe Gil-galad to be the only star who has ever fallen? You need to observe the heavens with a keener eye, Elrond. Stars fall from the sky more often than you would believe, yet the heavens do not become as darkened as your heart. For every time a light tumbles from the firmament and is extinguished in a final flash of glory, the Lady lovingly chooses another to take its place."
Without opening his eyes, Elrond sighed his desperate response. "None could take his place."
"Do not close your heart to the Lady. She has most certainly not forsaken you."
How he longed to believe the words of this most curious of messengers. "If only I could be as sure as you seem to be," Elrond whispered with palpable ache. Exhaling loudly, he slowly opened his eyes in time to catch the wondrous sight of a brilliant golden bolide silently winging its way across the sky. It started east, near the peaks of the Misty Mountains, at the Valacirca, the visible promise of the Valar's defeat of Morgoth at the end of days, then streamed westward across the valley into the wings of Wilwarin. Yet rather than extinguish its flame in a final, showered spark of death, the beckoning brilliance passed out of sight intact, its light undaunted, undimmed. Yet Elrond strangely found no joy in the meteor's apparent victory. Instead, he believed it to be only another celestial taunting. "The Lady torments me still," he murmured. "She reminds me of the beauty of starlight only to take it from me after too brief a moment. 'Tis folly that I fall for her treachery still."
"Lord Elrond?"
The voice had changed, drastically, undeniably, both in timbre and poise. Elrond jerked to face the origin of the query and found himself faced with a clearly puzzled, fair-haired elf dressed in the typical forest garb of the Galadrim. "You are the messenger from Lothlorien?" he questioned incredulously, his eyes vainly searching the rooms and corridors beyond for a glimpse of the mysterious stranger who had, indeed, been much more than he seemed.
"Haldir, servant of the Lady of the Wood," the elf introduced with a slight, nodded bow of respect. "She humbly requests that you return with me and my party to Lothlorien, to discuss a matter of some urgency."
"What matter?"
"An alliance between your land, and our own...."
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