Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Tolkien. I haven't stolen
them...honest! I've just borrowed them for a teeny, teeny little
while...and this story is of course based on elements from the books.
Late I know, but this fic is written for Father's Day(2003). It's dedicated to all fathers(including my own, though I know he won't be reading this) and children. Never doubt your love for each other, even if it isn't expressed explicitly. (
I'm not sure if anyone has explored this area yet in any fic, but even if so, I hope you the reader still enjoys it, and will drop any comments. Thanks. This is not one of my better fics, so forgive me and be kind with any criticisms.
The former Lord of Rivendell leaned on the railings of the vessel. He truly appreciated this rare moment of solitude. From the moment since he had boarded the white ship at the Havens, he had not been alone, what with Galadriel and Mithrandir and Frodo hovering around constantly.
Tilting his head towards the vast sea, he closed his eyes and let the strong breeze wash over him. The cold air flowed over him, crisp and fresh, clean and invigorating, soothing as though he was immersed in cool, clear water on a hot summer's day.
The winds caressed his face, brushing tendrils of his dark hair away; the touch gentle and smooth.
Like Celebrian's. He still remembered the touch of her smooth hand; he could almost feel it now, as vividly as though she really was present, right there beside him, brushing away his hair and tucking the stray locks neatly behind his ears as she liked to do, with her wide, beautiful smile.
The knowledge that he would soon see her again eased his heart greatly. They would finally be reunited. They would lead a new life together, in the Undying Lands, where all was fair and blessed, and life was bliss.
But even this was no balm to his heavy heart. He and Celebrian would spend their days together, through all the Ages of the world, free from the troubles and cares of Middle-Earth.
But it would never be the same again.
The perfect picture that he had envisioned was...incomplete. There would always be something missing. *They were as good as childless.
The family had been torn asunder, ripped apart by the doom brought about by his father Earendil. His offspring had chosen to bind themselves to the Fate of the Edain, to remain in Middle-Earth and resign to the Doom of Men. They had forsaken their immortality. They would taste the bitterness of the Doom of Men, and pass to the halls of their forefathers.
It left a sour taste in his mouth that they would choose to cleave to the Edain, to forsake those who had bore them.
But perhaps it was not so surprising after all. Ever since he had learned that Arwen had plighted her troth with Estel, he had known that this day would arrive. She would cleave herself to the Edain and turn from the twilight, and Elladan and Elrohir were too attached to the Dunedain, to Imladris, and their sister and Estel, to desire leaving.
At the very end, he was less worthy of his children's love than their distant mortal kin.
Just how important was he to them?
Maybe, just maybe, he was worthless to them.
That must have been why they would forsake him.
He opened his eyes again and gazed unseeingly into the vast expanses of the ocean. The azure sky was clear, and one could easily see for many leagues around, to where the horizon faded into the distant mists, and merged with the sky.
A hand was laid on his shoulder. He jumped and whirled around to find Mithrandir, his brilliant white robes billowing in the gusts of wind. Elrond almost groaned; he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
"I know what lies in your thoughts, or at least I can guess," Mithrandir said. Elrond lifted his shoulders slightly in a nonchalant shrug and let his gaze drift.
The vessel was intricately crafted, beautiful and strong and elegant. What caught his attention most though, were the wide sails. They flapped fiercely in the wind, strong and free.
Free like they were now. He was physically free, of the worries and troubles and the pains that had plagued him while Sauron lived. But he would never be free from the grief that tugged at him now, the grief of losing his beloved children, and the lingering anguish of losing his brother.
Strangely enough, he had lost Elros to the Doom of Men too. He could replay the death in his mind down to the last detail, as though it had occured yesterday.
The Doom of Men. Always the Doom of Men. It was fated for him to lose those dearest to him to the doom of Men, by virtue of being peredhil.
"Will you never open this?" Mithrandir's voice barged in. In the Istar's hand he held the package that Elladan and Elrohir had given their father, just before he had left Imladris for the Shire.
The moment they had bid him farewell flashed before him. ~~~~~ Elladan and Elrohir placing the package in his hands,faces grave and composed.
"You told us not to expend any further effort on gifts for you, Adar," Elladan began.
"But allow us to present a gift to you, for the last time," Elrohir finished for his brother.
Elrond smiled at them. He had once told his children not to prepare gifts for him any more, for it was too much time and energy consumed .Furthermore, if they continued preparing gifts for him, the house would soon be crammed with gifts through the years.
Years?It felt as though all the years had been but one brief, fleeting second that had just passed by.
The twins surged forward simultaneously, both desiring to embrace their father.
"I began first," Elrohir delivered a mock-glare to his brother.
"I first, but I will be magnanimous for once and yield to you, little brother," Elladan teased.
"Now, you both know better," Elrond cautioned, knowing full well when his sons were jesting. He stretched out each arm and folded each son into his arms on either side. "Together."
Elrond's smile widened. Too long it had been since he had shared such intimate moments with his sons. When they were but younglings, only reaching up to his waist, they would hang on to him and snuggle against him. Naturally as they had matured, the moments had diminished and then disappeared.
The twins pressed their bodies against their father and tightened their grips on him.
"Take care of yourselves and Arwen, and Estel too."
"We will," Elladan promised. "Though as King of Gondor and Arnor, Estel will likely have an entourage of Men to guard him and will not require us to look after his back any more, Father."
"He no longer is the Estel we once knew, loved and protected," Elrohir concluded. "He is grown."
"I know," Elrond concurred. "Long before. Now that Mithrandir and I will no longer remain on Middle-Earth, it is now your duty to retain Imladris, and to aid Es- Elessar in the governing of the West."
"We will not fail." Elladan said confidently as he pulled away from his father. He paused a moment." Fare you well, Father, where you go."
"Our thoughts will always be with you and Mother," Elrohir said thickly as he, too, withdrew from the embrace.
An echo of the warmth and love they had shared earlier still remained, and Elrond fought to swallow the lump in his throat. He suddenly had an overpowering desire to stay.
But he could not. Mustering every ounce of self-control he possessed, he ignored the snowballing lump, almost choking on it.
He scrutinised the faces of his sons carefully and fervently, trying to memorise every single detail.
Taking a last look at his sons, he spun around and left Imladris without looking back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Well?" Mithrandir's voice prodded Elrond out of his reverie. Judging by the neutral expression, Elrond guessed that he had some idea of what the gift was.
Elrond's long hands slowly parted the folds of cloth that encased the package, to reveal an oblong wooden box that bore Elvish motifs and designs. Gems outlined the contours of the box, and his name was inscribed in flowing Feanorian letters.
Instantly Elrond recognised the script and the work as Arwen's. Only she could have produced an item of such meticulousness, elegance.
His fingers, uncharacteristically, fumbled clumsily with the catch of the lacquered box.
Lined with velvet, the box contained a leather-bound book and two figures.
Elrond held up one figure. It was in the shape of a great graceful white bird, bearing a fiery white gem on her breast.
The other figure had been fashioned out of wood, a great, fair ship, Vingilot, the ship that Earendil had sailed in, never to return to mortal lands.
In memory of his own parents, Earendil the Mariner and Elwing.
So sensitively, skilfully crafted.
So hauntingly life-like. If these figures had been life-sized, Elrond would have believed that he was seeing the bird swooping down to the ship.
Elrond reverently returned the figures to the box, realizing what pains and efforts his sons must have undertaken to create these figures.
Now he opened the book, his deft fingers carefully turning the fancy leaves of the book. The foremost pages were filled with paintings of Imladris.
The fair valley, sandwiched by the hills that made it the hidden haven of all those he himself had gathered after the Alliance.
The wide, empty lands and woods that surrounded Imladris. The desolate lands, with a sad, lonely air, but the beauty untarnished nonetheless.
What arrested Elrond's attention was the portrayal of the waterfalls that he had always loved. So grand, so majestic, the waters crashing and cascading down the rocks, the cooling spray that enveloped any being there. Admiring the drawing, he fancied that he was standing by the waterfall again, tasting the clear, cool spray that showered him.
Yet another was the painting that occupied the very first page, Imladris in the dawn, the glow of the rising sun bathing the structures in a golden haze, deepening the light colours of the structures to a golden-brown.
Scenery of the other realms of Middle-Earth were depicted too. Lorien, Fangorn, the Havens, the Shire,the Eryn Lasgalen as it was now known, Anduin, Minas Tirith and Gondor, Rohan, the Lonely Mountain and Dale.
Each painting brimmed with light and colour and life, the colours were of the exact shades. For all Elrond knew, he might well have been looking out of a window at the real scenery.
Elladan and Elrohir might not have completed all the drawings by themselves, Elrond knew, but they had evidently been painstakingly assembling this collage, quite likely with the aid of others. Arwen and Es-- Elessar(would he never remember to call the Man his rightful name?), surely. Other folk like Gimli, the hobbits, Legolas, Eomer.
Paintings of many whom they had known, and those that his sons likely wanted him to remember.
He almost froze at the last paintings.
A painting of himself, and Elros. Of their parents.
Arwen, and Elessar, in their wedding finery.
The twins themselves, the drawing completed by Arwen evidently, for there was her name in neat script at the bottom right-hand corner. They gazed out of their clear, bright elven-eyes,both faces alike and fair, smiling out at him. Elrond turned back to the picture of himself and Elros. An eerie, incredible likeness existed between the two drawings, almost disturbing.
An unsettling feeling arose in his stomach and he began to feel slightly queasy.
He quickly turned to the penultimate painting.
It boasted the entire family. Celebrian, himself, and their three children. Naught that was truly strange. But what was disconcerting was that it was a though the artist had merely decided to capture the family in a particular moment in time.
Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen appeared exactly as they had looked ere Celebrian had been injured.
Elrond reached out a finger and touched the painting. None could have been more true-to-life than this. Every stroke was rendered with the greatest tenderness, love, care and sensitivity.
The last painting was of Imladris in the twilight, in the moment just ere daylight gave way altogether to inky darkness, an ugly mixture of grey and black and midnight blue.
And Elrond pondered over the strategic significance of the placement of that particular portrait.
After Celebrian's encounter with the orcs and the injury she had sustained, Imladris had no longer sufficed as a haven for her.
From that time on, for her, and their family as well, Imladris was oft a shadowy land of grey, and uncertainty, a place of hidden grief and fear.
Imladris was more so in its twilight, now that its founder had left, and what he had laboured so hard to establish would gradually fade into the darkness, to be forgotten.
And like the land, with which the fate of his family was intertwined with, the family would disintegrate into its twilight.
Indeed it was so, for only him and Celebrian would outlive their children.
A written message graced the back cover of the book.
~~~~~~ We hope you enjoy this gift.
Always, always remember, Adar, that you and Naneth have our love and respect, regardless of time, and the Doom that divides us.
Namarie.
Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen
~~~~~
Elrond swallowed very, very hard as he closed the book with trembling hands. All doubts that he had harboured about his children's love melted and dissolved, scattering in the winds that carried them far, far away. Surely, if they felt naught for him at all, they would not painstakingly assemble this gift.
^I love you, too^
Would that he had told them that more often!
The tears trickled unashamedly down his cheeks, at this final bestowal of love from his children.
-------------The End---------------------
*Although we are never told exactly what fate eventually befalls the sons of Elrond, since they chose to part with Elrond and not Middle-Earth, it is my belief that by choosing thus, they forsook their immortality, and like Arwen, would die .
^the sentence within these symbols are thoughts of the character
Note: This is but my interpretation of the situation. From my point of view, it's just terrible that ALL his children would choose not to sail with him.
Late I know, but this fic is written for Father's Day(2003). It's dedicated to all fathers(including my own, though I know he won't be reading this) and children. Never doubt your love for each other, even if it isn't expressed explicitly. (
I'm not sure if anyone has explored this area yet in any fic, but even if so, I hope you the reader still enjoys it, and will drop any comments. Thanks. This is not one of my better fics, so forgive me and be kind with any criticisms.
The former Lord of Rivendell leaned on the railings of the vessel. He truly appreciated this rare moment of solitude. From the moment since he had boarded the white ship at the Havens, he had not been alone, what with Galadriel and Mithrandir and Frodo hovering around constantly.
Tilting his head towards the vast sea, he closed his eyes and let the strong breeze wash over him. The cold air flowed over him, crisp and fresh, clean and invigorating, soothing as though he was immersed in cool, clear water on a hot summer's day.
The winds caressed his face, brushing tendrils of his dark hair away; the touch gentle and smooth.
Like Celebrian's. He still remembered the touch of her smooth hand; he could almost feel it now, as vividly as though she really was present, right there beside him, brushing away his hair and tucking the stray locks neatly behind his ears as she liked to do, with her wide, beautiful smile.
The knowledge that he would soon see her again eased his heart greatly. They would finally be reunited. They would lead a new life together, in the Undying Lands, where all was fair and blessed, and life was bliss.
But even this was no balm to his heavy heart. He and Celebrian would spend their days together, through all the Ages of the world, free from the troubles and cares of Middle-Earth.
But it would never be the same again.
The perfect picture that he had envisioned was...incomplete. There would always be something missing. *They were as good as childless.
The family had been torn asunder, ripped apart by the doom brought about by his father Earendil. His offspring had chosen to bind themselves to the Fate of the Edain, to remain in Middle-Earth and resign to the Doom of Men. They had forsaken their immortality. They would taste the bitterness of the Doom of Men, and pass to the halls of their forefathers.
It left a sour taste in his mouth that they would choose to cleave to the Edain, to forsake those who had bore them.
But perhaps it was not so surprising after all. Ever since he had learned that Arwen had plighted her troth with Estel, he had known that this day would arrive. She would cleave herself to the Edain and turn from the twilight, and Elladan and Elrohir were too attached to the Dunedain, to Imladris, and their sister and Estel, to desire leaving.
At the very end, he was less worthy of his children's love than their distant mortal kin.
Just how important was he to them?
Maybe, just maybe, he was worthless to them.
That must have been why they would forsake him.
He opened his eyes again and gazed unseeingly into the vast expanses of the ocean. The azure sky was clear, and one could easily see for many leagues around, to where the horizon faded into the distant mists, and merged with the sky.
A hand was laid on his shoulder. He jumped and whirled around to find Mithrandir, his brilliant white robes billowing in the gusts of wind. Elrond almost groaned; he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
"I know what lies in your thoughts, or at least I can guess," Mithrandir said. Elrond lifted his shoulders slightly in a nonchalant shrug and let his gaze drift.
The vessel was intricately crafted, beautiful and strong and elegant. What caught his attention most though, were the wide sails. They flapped fiercely in the wind, strong and free.
Free like they were now. He was physically free, of the worries and troubles and the pains that had plagued him while Sauron lived. But he would never be free from the grief that tugged at him now, the grief of losing his beloved children, and the lingering anguish of losing his brother.
Strangely enough, he had lost Elros to the Doom of Men too. He could replay the death in his mind down to the last detail, as though it had occured yesterday.
The Doom of Men. Always the Doom of Men. It was fated for him to lose those dearest to him to the doom of Men, by virtue of being peredhil.
"Will you never open this?" Mithrandir's voice barged in. In the Istar's hand he held the package that Elladan and Elrohir had given their father, just before he had left Imladris for the Shire.
The moment they had bid him farewell flashed before him. ~~~~~ Elladan and Elrohir placing the package in his hands,faces grave and composed.
"You told us not to expend any further effort on gifts for you, Adar," Elladan began.
"But allow us to present a gift to you, for the last time," Elrohir finished for his brother.
Elrond smiled at them. He had once told his children not to prepare gifts for him any more, for it was too much time and energy consumed .Furthermore, if they continued preparing gifts for him, the house would soon be crammed with gifts through the years.
Years?It felt as though all the years had been but one brief, fleeting second that had just passed by.
The twins surged forward simultaneously, both desiring to embrace their father.
"I began first," Elrohir delivered a mock-glare to his brother.
"I first, but I will be magnanimous for once and yield to you, little brother," Elladan teased.
"Now, you both know better," Elrond cautioned, knowing full well when his sons were jesting. He stretched out each arm and folded each son into his arms on either side. "Together."
Elrond's smile widened. Too long it had been since he had shared such intimate moments with his sons. When they were but younglings, only reaching up to his waist, they would hang on to him and snuggle against him. Naturally as they had matured, the moments had diminished and then disappeared.
The twins pressed their bodies against their father and tightened their grips on him.
"Take care of yourselves and Arwen, and Estel too."
"We will," Elladan promised. "Though as King of Gondor and Arnor, Estel will likely have an entourage of Men to guard him and will not require us to look after his back any more, Father."
"He no longer is the Estel we once knew, loved and protected," Elrohir concluded. "He is grown."
"I know," Elrond concurred. "Long before. Now that Mithrandir and I will no longer remain on Middle-Earth, it is now your duty to retain Imladris, and to aid Es- Elessar in the governing of the West."
"We will not fail." Elladan said confidently as he pulled away from his father. He paused a moment." Fare you well, Father, where you go."
"Our thoughts will always be with you and Mother," Elrohir said thickly as he, too, withdrew from the embrace.
An echo of the warmth and love they had shared earlier still remained, and Elrond fought to swallow the lump in his throat. He suddenly had an overpowering desire to stay.
But he could not. Mustering every ounce of self-control he possessed, he ignored the snowballing lump, almost choking on it.
He scrutinised the faces of his sons carefully and fervently, trying to memorise every single detail.
Taking a last look at his sons, he spun around and left Imladris without looking back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Well?" Mithrandir's voice prodded Elrond out of his reverie. Judging by the neutral expression, Elrond guessed that he had some idea of what the gift was.
Elrond's long hands slowly parted the folds of cloth that encased the package, to reveal an oblong wooden box that bore Elvish motifs and designs. Gems outlined the contours of the box, and his name was inscribed in flowing Feanorian letters.
Instantly Elrond recognised the script and the work as Arwen's. Only she could have produced an item of such meticulousness, elegance.
His fingers, uncharacteristically, fumbled clumsily with the catch of the lacquered box.
Lined with velvet, the box contained a leather-bound book and two figures.
Elrond held up one figure. It was in the shape of a great graceful white bird, bearing a fiery white gem on her breast.
The other figure had been fashioned out of wood, a great, fair ship, Vingilot, the ship that Earendil had sailed in, never to return to mortal lands.
In memory of his own parents, Earendil the Mariner and Elwing.
So sensitively, skilfully crafted.
So hauntingly life-like. If these figures had been life-sized, Elrond would have believed that he was seeing the bird swooping down to the ship.
Elrond reverently returned the figures to the box, realizing what pains and efforts his sons must have undertaken to create these figures.
Now he opened the book, his deft fingers carefully turning the fancy leaves of the book. The foremost pages were filled with paintings of Imladris.
The fair valley, sandwiched by the hills that made it the hidden haven of all those he himself had gathered after the Alliance.
The wide, empty lands and woods that surrounded Imladris. The desolate lands, with a sad, lonely air, but the beauty untarnished nonetheless.
What arrested Elrond's attention was the portrayal of the waterfalls that he had always loved. So grand, so majestic, the waters crashing and cascading down the rocks, the cooling spray that enveloped any being there. Admiring the drawing, he fancied that he was standing by the waterfall again, tasting the clear, cool spray that showered him.
Yet another was the painting that occupied the very first page, Imladris in the dawn, the glow of the rising sun bathing the structures in a golden haze, deepening the light colours of the structures to a golden-brown.
Scenery of the other realms of Middle-Earth were depicted too. Lorien, Fangorn, the Havens, the Shire,the Eryn Lasgalen as it was now known, Anduin, Minas Tirith and Gondor, Rohan, the Lonely Mountain and Dale.
Each painting brimmed with light and colour and life, the colours were of the exact shades. For all Elrond knew, he might well have been looking out of a window at the real scenery.
Elladan and Elrohir might not have completed all the drawings by themselves, Elrond knew, but they had evidently been painstakingly assembling this collage, quite likely with the aid of others. Arwen and Es-- Elessar(would he never remember to call the Man his rightful name?), surely. Other folk like Gimli, the hobbits, Legolas, Eomer.
Paintings of many whom they had known, and those that his sons likely wanted him to remember.
He almost froze at the last paintings.
A painting of himself, and Elros. Of their parents.
Arwen, and Elessar, in their wedding finery.
The twins themselves, the drawing completed by Arwen evidently, for there was her name in neat script at the bottom right-hand corner. They gazed out of their clear, bright elven-eyes,both faces alike and fair, smiling out at him. Elrond turned back to the picture of himself and Elros. An eerie, incredible likeness existed between the two drawings, almost disturbing.
An unsettling feeling arose in his stomach and he began to feel slightly queasy.
He quickly turned to the penultimate painting.
It boasted the entire family. Celebrian, himself, and their three children. Naught that was truly strange. But what was disconcerting was that it was a though the artist had merely decided to capture the family in a particular moment in time.
Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen appeared exactly as they had looked ere Celebrian had been injured.
Elrond reached out a finger and touched the painting. None could have been more true-to-life than this. Every stroke was rendered with the greatest tenderness, love, care and sensitivity.
The last painting was of Imladris in the twilight, in the moment just ere daylight gave way altogether to inky darkness, an ugly mixture of grey and black and midnight blue.
And Elrond pondered over the strategic significance of the placement of that particular portrait.
After Celebrian's encounter with the orcs and the injury she had sustained, Imladris had no longer sufficed as a haven for her.
From that time on, for her, and their family as well, Imladris was oft a shadowy land of grey, and uncertainty, a place of hidden grief and fear.
Imladris was more so in its twilight, now that its founder had left, and what he had laboured so hard to establish would gradually fade into the darkness, to be forgotten.
And like the land, with which the fate of his family was intertwined with, the family would disintegrate into its twilight.
Indeed it was so, for only him and Celebrian would outlive their children.
A written message graced the back cover of the book.
~~~~~~ We hope you enjoy this gift.
Always, always remember, Adar, that you and Naneth have our love and respect, regardless of time, and the Doom that divides us.
Namarie.
Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen
~~~~~
Elrond swallowed very, very hard as he closed the book with trembling hands. All doubts that he had harboured about his children's love melted and dissolved, scattering in the winds that carried them far, far away. Surely, if they felt naught for him at all, they would not painstakingly assemble this gift.
^I love you, too^
Would that he had told them that more often!
The tears trickled unashamedly down his cheeks, at this final bestowal of love from his children.
-------------The End---------------------
*Although we are never told exactly what fate eventually befalls the sons of Elrond, since they chose to part with Elrond and not Middle-Earth, it is my belief that by choosing thus, they forsook their immortality, and like Arwen, would die .
^the sentence within these symbols are thoughts of the character
Note: This is but my interpretation of the situation. From my point of view, it's just terrible that ALL his children would choose not to sail with him.