Disclaimer: I don't own any of J. R. R. Tolkien's writings. That's why they're his writings.
Elrond POV
Sometimes I lie in my room at night, alone on the bed for two, and wonder if I made the right choice all those centuries ago. Was Elvenkind truly the best choice for me? Later, when my day-to-day life has swept me up again, I will know that it was, that I would never have truly felt right among Men. But lying in the dark, alone in the silence and oh-so-cold despite the blankets piled on top of me, I feel the hard knot of grief that never leaves me ache and throb in time with my heartbeat, and I count those I've lost and wonder how I have not faded yet.
Eӓrendil. So long ago, but my memories of him are still just as crisp – and painful – the curse of Elven memory. I was so happy every time he came back from his sailing trips. I would cry every time he left. I remember how I begged him not to go, that last fateful trip. I couldn't articulate the dread that filled me at his leavetaking. I continued to weep long after he had left.
Elwing. My beloved mother, who was always there for me. The one I leaned on, the one who had all the answers. I felt betrayed for so long after she attempted to kill herself in front of me. Sometimes I still wonder why she chose a jewel over me. Yet even when the betrayal was fresh I longed to have her back, and I still do.
Maedhros and Maglor. This grief is terrible, because no one else understands. Only Elros understood what they meant to us. My grief for them is as sharp, if not sharper, than my grief for my parents, because they raised me. All through my childhood they were there for me, my second and third fathers, as beloved as my first. I hate how I now live in a world where they are spoken of with hatred and anger, and no one understands that they were people as well, people who were only trying to keep their vow and honour the memory of their own beloved father.
Elros. My beloved twin. The other half of myself. He was the reckless one, the curious one. I was the one who hung behind and stopped him from eating poisonous berries. We completed each other – often I feel that we were never meant to be apart. I wish we could have lived in the middle ground forever. But it could not last, and our diametrically opposed personalities would never have allowed us to choose the same way.
Gil-galad. My lieutenant. My mentor. The one who shaped me into who I am. He fell before my eyes, and there was nothing I could do for him but close his eyes in death.
Celebrían. My beloved wife, who nearly filled the hole Elros left in my heart. Taken by the darkness, she slowly wasted away as I watched, helpless, and all my efforts and all my healing were not enough to keep her with me.
And now another grief threatens me. I know Aragorn. I raised him. I know he is worthy of my beautiful Arwen's hand. Yet I have told him he must become King before he may marry her. I ask of him an unreasonable bride-price, just like Thingol in ages past. Why? Not for gold or prestige. I ask this of him merely because I don't want to lose another. Because I lie in bed at night and tell my sorrows to the stars. Because for once in my life, I'd like to be selfish – to keep my joys to myself, rather than let them choose the path away from me. Yet at the same time, I love Aragorn, too. And I know he has the potential to restore his line to their rightful throne, and I know that if he does, I will not ask any more from him. Because really, this is just an old and grief-filled father's futile attempt to avoid yet another sorrow. And sometimes I wonder if Aragorn knows this, and sometimes I don't care.
A bird chirps outside my window, soon joined by another, and another, and I know it is time to get up. So I slip out of my cold, cold bed and walk out of my bedroom, to allow Rivendell and its inhabitants to chase such dark thoughts out of my mind… until the next sleepless night.