Elrond Part 1
"Ada." Her gentle voice floating up to Elrond's ears.
"Mmm?" Elrond forced his eyes up from the book to gaze upon his daughter. "What are you doing up this late, my darling?" He asked as he closed the leather-bound volume and stood.
"I had a vision." Arwen replied, her voice shivering. "And I am afraid, Ada."
Elrond took her small hands in his own and led her over to the seat she'd made. The window in the study overlooked a small waterfall, and the finest smelling and most beautiful flowering trees. She'd taken a blanket and folded it, with Lindir's help, and set it on the sill. Arwen had surprised him with it. 'Now I can curl up and read and listen to the water with you, whilst you read.'
"Do you wish to speak about it?" Elrond asked, pushing a messy tangle of thick black hair behind one of her tiny, pointed ears.
"You died, Ada." Arwen sniffled. Elrond lifted her chin to look into her eyes. She did have her mother's eyes.
"It was probably just a bad dream, honey. You know your father won't ever leave you. I promised you, remember?"
"Yes, I do remember." Arwen pushed herself to sit next to him on the sill. She looked him deep in the eyes. "But that is one promise you're going to break, Ada."
"I won't ever break that promise, Arwen."
The little girl began to sob, and she dove into his chest. Elrond rubbed her back, trying to calm her down.
"No, Ada! It's prophecy! Thranduil and Galadriel and Brydda will die! But I will die, first! Don't let the orcs kill me, Ada!"
Her voice rose to a shriek, fear making the small child tremble. "I won't let the orcs get you." Elrond whispered to his weeping child. "I will protect you."
The scene began to vanish. There was a firm hand shaking Elrond. "Elrond!" The harsh voice called out. It was Aragorn. His face was hard, his voice chill, his eyes angry.
"Arwen!" Elrond called out as he pulled himself up to a sitting position. He reached up, and with numb hands, could feel the wetness that creased his cheeks. Aragorn's face began to soften.
"I am sorry to wake you, my lord." The king's voice was soft and gentle again. The same voice he used to talk to Arwen with. "It is urgent."
"What matter could dare be so urgent?" Elrond asked as he found his footing, and pulled open the curtains to his room with a swift flourish.
"There is a terrible gift from the southron orc Leader, and near worse news." Aragorn responded as he pulled open the door to the hall way. "It is of a… personal matter."
Elrond sighed. He just wanted Arwen, alive and well and in love with Aragorn and back in Minas Tirith, if nothing. He just wanted his little girl to be safe.
"I should wonder why it is not Lindir that comes to fetch me for such matters." Elrond replied, a bitterness on the edge of his voice. A lot of bitterness had crept into Elrond unbidden and unwelcome, yet all the more there, since Arwen died.
"Lindir is not yet awake. I have not yet been asleep." Aragorn replied simply. "You have lost enough, and Lindir had brought enough fowl news. It should be my turn, to hand feed you the bitterness."
"Forgive me for saying so." Elrond grumbled as he dressed. "But you, most of all, have fed me bitterness. Arwen could be safe, beyond all, yet she stayed for what? Her unborn child and the man she loved who might have been dead. When you came, you took my daughter away.
"You know, I was dreaming about the night she came crying into my study. She had dreamt I had died, and Thranduil and Galadriel and Brydda too. She said she would die too, and begged me not to let the orcs get her." Elrond told Aragorn, as he looked out the window. "I did my best, but you secured her fate. You, most of all have fed me bitterness."
Aragorn didn't respond, all he did was stand strong, and silent. As if what Elrond had said didn't hurt.
"I do not take offence." Aragorn said after a while. "All that you say, and more, is true."
Elrond brushed past Aragorn, out the door. The King of Men followed close.
"So, what of this news?" Elrond asked. "Where is this gift?"
"The gift is in the courtyard." Aragorn responded, his voice rather tight. "The news…."
"Why do you hesitate?"
"I dislike the news, but do not mistake me. I have received word from the new queen of Lothlorien, Alacla."
"New queen? Galadriel and Brydda…" Elrond asked, leaving the question hang.
Aragorn nodded solemnly. "I am…sorry."
Elrond nodded, but his head hung, hiding the unshed tears from Aragorn. "It was hard enough when my father died. Now my mother…" his voice cracked. It'd been doing that a lot, lately. Aragorn placed a hand on Elrond's shoulder.
"Much is sad on this grey morning."
"What could bring me further? The one who birthed me has died."
"In the courtyard, a sorrow should come anew." Aragorn promised, his voice sad.
There was a slab of rock dominating the courtyard that hadn't been there last night. On top of it, there was a body covered in a blanket sewn with the colors of Rivendell. Elrohir was standing on the side that could only have been the head. His hand was over his face, and his shoulders were dancing with his sobs.
Elrond walked up slowly and stood on the left side of his son, only that much closer to the top of the blanket. The woven cover was slightly askew, proof his son had looked at the body under the cover.
Elrond reach out, but his hand wouldn't make the final move, wouldn't span the final distance to lift the cover to reveal who was under it. Elrohir was sobbing in a way he hadn't sobbed since Arwen died, 800 years ago.
Aragorn being here right now was proof of that. The light that hadn't left Arwen yet had flowed into Aragorn, and though his ears weren't points, he would live much too long for any human.
Lord Elrond stood, frozen, unable to move, a fear pushing itself at his heart, demanding to be felt even though he didn't want to feel it.
Eventually, Aragorn came forth and pushed Elrond's hand down. The hands of the man reached forward and took the ends of the blanket and folded it back. The sight underneath the covering was a punch in the stomach. Elrond found himself gasping for a moment.
"Elladen." Elrond sobbed. The father of the dead boy hung his head, and tears ran from his eyes. The father's tears landed next to the son's hand. Elrohir's twin was dead, killed by the orcs. Aragorn tried to rest a hand on his shoulder, but Elrond shook it off. "All my children are dying." He murmured.
Elrohir was shivering in the cool morning air. Thousands of elves pushed and prodded each other, curious, just wanting a peek at who was laying there, just wanted to know why their lord and his son wept so bitterly.
Elrond wouldn't let them near, ever again. "My son!" He screamed. "That is who lies here, dead! The elder twin to Elrohir has been murdered by the orcs!" His voice was ragged and broke many times, but still he screamed at the top of his lungs. His hands were clenched at his side and anger tore through him like a beast with claws.
Through his tears, Elrohir grabbed Elrond by the arm and tugged him through the crowd, slamming the door to the study and barring it.
Elrond was a few feet in the study when his legs gave out. Tears ran down his face like rivers down a mountain. Before Elrond could do anything about it, he was on his knees, then he was completely on the ground. Elrohir balled his fists and wailed, slamming himself into the door. A sharp crack filled the room, but Elrohir didn't move from the door.
Elrohir had hurt pretty bad when Arwen died, but Arwen wasn't his twin. She'd been the little sister. The one to look after, but then she'd grown up, found womanhood, found someone to marry, and could take care of herself. Elladen had always taken care of Elrohir.
He'd been a role model, taught his younger twin to fight and defend himself, how to speak the many different tounges of Middle Earth, taught him about heritage and histories. They'd been so close. After their mother died, Elladen had stayed strong for Elrohir, had always been a rock in the torrent of life.
And now, he was gone. Elrond understood how he felt because he'd felt that same thing before, more intense then he felt it now.
Those same emotions had always raged through him. When his younger brother had gotten sick and died, Elrond had felt lost, but he couldn't return home. He'd had Rivendell. Now, even that was begging to fade.
Elrohir slid until he was on his knees, the door holding him up as he wept fiercely into the wood of the locked barrier. Elrond couldn't be a lord anymore. He just wanted to curl up and be there forever, just to fold into nothingness so he couldn't feel this total sadness anymore.
Maybe his wife and Arwen and Elladen would be in that nothingness. Maybe they could meet up and wait for Elrohir, and then when he came, they could be a real family again.
Just him and his family, for the first time in a long time.
