A Brother's Choice

Foreword: At the end of the LOTR Appendices, it is explicitly said that Celeborn after spending many years with the sons of Elrond in Rivendell, eventually sailed overseas himself. But the choices of the sons of Elrond is never made explicit by Tolkien. Certainly, they did not sail with Elrond yet the described fate of his half-elven offspring was either to go with him to the West for immortality or remain in Middle-earth as mortals. It is possible to conclude that they did become mortal after he left but this is never stated. It is also possible to conclude that following their sister's death, they too sailed, perhaps with Celeborn. This second chapter of Imlad Drifts explores a third option.

…

The snow fell deep in Imladris that year. The high fells blew skeins of glittering powder into the wild skies and chill clouds settled like a smothering blanket, dimming the wintery sun, turning all to grey. It was the third winter since the departure of Elrond.

The remaining community were snowbound and spent their weeks deep in their crafts. Ryebread and soup sustained their frugal existence. And the fires were made to burn low and slow. Furs and felted woollen garments were their constant companions.

Elrohir breathed in fragrant steam before taking a sip from his hot tea. He savoured the aroma and the deep heat it brought to the body. A smile of affection came to his face as he remembered the old hobbit shuffling about the halls carrying his pot of tea, sometimes sloshing a little onto the floor.

"Oh, young Master Elrohir, I daresay you rue the day I first came to this homely house. But you can stop flaring your proud nostrils at me," Bilbo had said, looking up at the tall son of his host with twinkling eyes and more than a little asperity.

"For hobbits of character must always have a brew of tea stewing on the hob. We cannot do without it I assure you. I hear tell the elves eschew tea, as it is the dwarves who trade for it in the Far East. What silly nonsense. The elves do not know what they are missing. Here, come to my apartment and share a pot. I have cups to spare."

Elrohir had humoured him of course. He was not the son of a man kind-as-summer for nothing. And he had sipped tea on many occasions in his long life and in many different places, including the Far East, even with butter and the rank hair of kine floating in it. But it was true, tea had never been a feature of life in The Last Homely House. Not until Bilbo Baggins had come to stay. He had joined Bilbo for tea more than once after that occasion and so had many others over the near score of years of Bilbo's final residence.

…

Elrohir poured another cup and this time added a little honey. The habits that dear old hobbit had started in the place!

Then he picked up the last letter from his grand-father that had arrived just before they become snow bound and read it again, starting halfway down the first page.

"…it was well I returned when I did. The people of Lothlorien are sorely troubled. The heart has gone from the land and the days of spring sun in winter in the naith of Lorien with them. As you well know, many on the marches have been accustomed to journey to the Naith during mid-winter to escape the chills and walk upon the undying grass amongst the elanor and niphredil, basking in warm sun. But no longer. After having been transformed firstly from The Woods of the Silverlode to The Valley of Singing Gold and then to The Dreamflower, even the grass withers and the great mallorns of Cerin Amroth suffer. Lothlorien darkens. For with the withdrawal of the Elessar's local influence and the shearing of power from Nenya and the departure of their erstwhile wielder, the land of Lorien now threatens to become the Valley of Broken Dreams and the people its broken inhabitants."

"So, I have been much busied, helping the remaining people of Caras Galadhon and the wider lands become accustomed to the changed circumstances and to establish East Lorien. As we last discussed, the East Lorien project is thus more than simply laying claim to new territory. It is a new venture to divert and enthuse those who will not be travelling over the sea, of which there are more than a few already so declared. And to bring them into the sphere of influence of Thranduil… perhaps against my better judgement."

Elrohir could imagine his grand-father's sighs and the set of his jaw.

"But Thranduil looks set to be the mainstay of elven civilisation into this Fourth Age... and beyond, regardless of any wish of mine. Whether the sweep of time will change their minds remains to be seen. And I must confess, I also count myself amongst the unwilling. But I forebode that once I know your sister has finally laid down her life, I shall have little left to offer Middle-earth."

"There is no doubt some of our Silvan or Sinda worthies will step into the breach once I join you in Imladris, should you both be still there. Theirs has been a long apprenticeship. It will be interesting to assist in the choice making and to be anointing whoever it turns out to be. But I also forebode that even Thranduil will need our remaining people to swell those of his own dwindling number. Before she departed, your grand-mother remarked to me that unlike yourselves, Legolas Greenleaf had been touched by the sea calling; you may have noted it yourself, so it is unlikely he will act as a bastion to keep Mirkwood's people together. Indeed, he may be more likely to draw many away. At our last meeting, Thranduil tells me his son has already marched south with a large mixed company to occupy Ithilien with Elessar's and Undomiel's blessing, to heal its wounds and swearing to remain there until they depart this world, and to then build a ship of their own. Needless to say, the Elvenking of Eryn Lasgalen is dark on the matter, but remains even tempered at least."

"At any rate. there is no point in my denying any longer. I also will go. I will come to you soon and spend some unknown period with you both. My darling Alatariel found herself defeated by Middle-earth and needed to pass to the Undying Lands at last. I feel the need myself now. The shock of being shorn of the Ring's power was greater than she had foreseen. Even gifting Estel with the Elessar left her shaken, despite knowing the uses himself and your dear sister would put it to in the South. Alas, Alatariel came to know like never before that she could never dwindle to become a rustic inhabitant of wood and dell. As she shouldered all her burdens, so she did with this latest. Go she must and go she did… and with good grace. I am heartened she is now with your mother. And with your sister now fated to recieve the so-called 'gift of men', she will be lost to us for as long as our kind can comprehend."

"And here now I must beg your indulgence. For I am still incensed. I still consider this 'gift of men' to be the most ironic and sarcastic piece of elvish dark humour I have ever heard. Undomiel's bargain with the Valar I certainly consider sacred in its way and I will not challenge it openly, but I still do not understand why she had to surrender her life's grace to be with that man! Becoming a brood mare for a new dynasty is one thing. But having to die at the end of it and not re-join her kin seems the height of self-sacrifice to me.

I fear she and Aragorn are mistaken about the long fate of mortals. If faith and belief helps them face their short lives together, who am I do disabuse them? I hope and pray that neither of you take her path… but here foresight fails me."

Elrohir sighed and looked down at his blank parchment again. His own foresight did not fail him on this matter. How would he tell the news to his dear grand-father?

…

For at about the same time, but one year before, in the early autumn of 2033, the Sons of Elrond had received a letter from Undomiel. It was to the point.

"I am acutely aware that the uttermost choice still lies before you both. But time runs short. Father has only lately departed, but not for long now shall you both be granted the same grace. Should you both make the same choice and depart before it is too late, I send all blessings."

"But should one or both be about to embrace mortality as I, we bid you consider a fitting noble challenge. The Kingdom of Arnor needs a Prince Steward of the utmost gravity and capability. The authority of the Sons of Elrond amongst the Dunedain of the North is unquestioned. As King, Estel's energies are diverted. The dour-handed Rangers of the North have enough on their hands playing a role in Gondor to help unify the Kingdom as well as leading the scattered Numenoreans from their hidden hamlets to rebuild a community at Lake Evendim."

"You both knew Eriador with greatest intimacy. The securing and provisioning of the riverport of Tharbad proceeds unabated, so supplies from the south will be forthcoming. Annuminas must be rebuilt and secured and the Dunedain of the North gradually relocated there. This has already begun. Halbarad would have been our choice to lead, but alas, he and others of his train were slain in battle and his close cousins are stretched too thin."

"For the campaigns to the South remain a matter of grave importance. Some of the Black Numenoreans of Umbar and nearby lands to its South are already stirring. They are exercising great power according to our kind and remain opposed to Gondor. Already the peace we had bought for a few years is under threat. We already foresee the need in a few years to call upon the Rohirrim to lend their cavalry to assist us upon the plains of South Gondor and beyond."

"So, dearest brothers, whether or not either of you are so disposed to consider our suggestion, a visit to Minas Tirith in late spring by one or both would be most welcome and without prejudice. For I am with child and I am expecting the birthing to occur in early June. The presence of my family would increase my happiness hundred-fold in those last weeks."

The latter request from the Queen had certainly deserved a presence at the birth. The former deserved serious time and consideration at the very least.

…

Elrohir gazed out the rippled glass upon the frozen valley, remembering how he and Elladan had conferred long in that winter, pondering what it may mean for their lives … and their people. And who were their people?

They had asked each other that very question many times over the long centuries.

Century upon century, the sons of Elrond had journeyed from Lorien to Imladris to the Havens and back again. They had patrolled the high fells, played guerrilla warfare in the Trollshaws, hiked in secret at night to the hidden Numenorean villages and some of the last elven hamlets and camped in the ruins around lake Evendim. Some of their elven following had ridden with them upon errantry and fought creatures of darkness with the remnant Numenorean warriors of the dwindled North Kingdom. They had trained the likes of Halbarad, Estel and Arathorn and a hundred others in their time before them. In recent centuries, they had joined with the rangers and guarded the lands of the little people and trod their lands unseen with Gildor Inglorion and his following.

On the one hand, to stay here and await their grand-father and then depart when they felt the moment come could be seen as a peace earned and well deserved. But to not now be playing a central role in rebuilding all they had fought for, longer than any others, seemed on one hand to be walking away from battle. But on the other, the task of preparing the path for their only sister as Queen Consort, to come to the North and to reside in comfort at Annuminas, even to bear and raise children in the splendour of the great Lake was a noble task. It was fitting after all that had been achieved. And if no choice was made, potentially a stultifying existence, waiting until the Valar forced their fates upon them.

And how much time would that take? To that, they did not know the full answer. Their entire lives had been one of constant delay, a procrastination on the nature of their existence. This challenge from their sister may just precipitate a conclusion.

…

In the end, Elladan had chosen to go South with a small company. He had left in April and taken ship from Tharbad which was now being renewed as the first step in securing the North Kingdom. They had agreed that one of them needed to remain in Imladris to be an anchor and counsellor to the elven people who were still drifting through, using it as a staging post on their journey to Lindon. Elrohir had felt this need more keenly than Elladan and Elladan found he had a desire for travel and to welcome his nephew into the world. So Elrohir remained.

They also made a solemn vow that their final choices would not be made without first fully consulting the other.

Elrohir trembled as his brother rode across the bridge.

...

He remained behind, his days of visiting mortal lands long gone. He assumed the mantle of Lord of Imladris, and keeper of records of former days until his departure to the Havens, should that indeed be his choice. He spent his time sifting Elrond's and Gilgalad's records, indeed his own, arranging for those with scription skills to make new fair copies of the oldest scrolls and bound books.

Come what may, when his grandfather and hopefully both himself and Elladan set out on their final journey, his nephew's descendants would have an intact record of all the days past. For in the long centuries to come, none could say when the fraying fortunes of Kingdoms both North and South, might depend upon ancient knowledge to right a wrong or solve an answer to some pressing question.

All being well, Imladris would remain a protected repository of wisdom and knowledge for centuries to come, even after the last elf had left its hallowed halls. Even Elrohir could feel his time in Middle-earth was running out and that his final choice must soon be made.

…

In mid-June, the happy news of the successful birth of a nephew came to Elrohir. He felt the joyful touch of his brother's mind and in his dreams heard the squall of a child. The Eagles of Gwaihir did not need to come bearing the news.

All Imladris celebrated. The Hall of Fire became a place of song and joy for nearly a week. The inhabitants were joined by several companies from Lothlorien and one from Greenwood since snow melt had been completed. Galdor of the Havens and his retinue also stayed for the season to acquaint themselves with the newcomers before guiding them to Lindon and the white ships. It was a merry gathering indeed, with a few of the throng having spent their own early years playing truant with young Undomiel amongst the birches, aspens and fir trees of the valley's glimmering woods. There were tales to tell and fair memories to sing into dancing shape in the great hall and the gardens of Imladris.

One Aerin, a Silvan elf woman who had shared some of her late maidenhood with Arwen in Lothlorien, but long since seen her own great grand-children born and grow to full stature, stood and sang a hymn of frolic and friendship, accompanied by pipe and viol. It told of mischief and mayhem in the híthlain fields and how on a day, a certain young woman had in a twinkling, spun a net, fine as spider silk, both strong and yielding to catch her friends and how with clever arrows and sly ropes, suspend them mid-air giggling and squealing twixt the mallorns.

To this the hall erupted in merry laughter and calls for more, but the ballad was not complete.

Then she sang of the time many hundred years after, when her friend had been less fey and less merry and broke the news that she had plighted troth with the Numenorean. Hereafter, her days and that of all her friends were tinged with sadness, doubt and hope. Many lips trembled.

Then she sang of the happy-sad tale of Undomiel leaving Lothlorien for the last time to attend her own wedding in the great Southland and finally of the promise of renewed life in the womb, but now in life mortal. She ended on a sweet, but plaintive note.

Some there would have said it was grief at the loss of her friend to certain death but others may have detected sorrow that she herself could not share the same fate. Many eyes lay upon Elrohir as she drew this to a close. In the silence that followed, thoughts flickered and eyes kindled.

If put into words the mood might have been rendered as: "All know that the gift of mortality is something the Eldar seem destined to crave and ever be denied, whilst those with the gift of mortality seem never to get enough life and often make themselves bitter as they seek for more. So Undomiel's gift that she has taken as free choice is envied by many. But all may tell, that in the end, her choice will be harder than stone. So let us pray for her and give her strength and fortitude."

There was a companionable silence and many eyes stared into the flames and coals in the Hall of Fire.

But all was not sadness. Many from Lorien were excited at having left the increasingly listless woods, and the city of Caras Galadhon, beautiful though they still be. They faced renewed life across the seas and a thirst for adventure was awake. Even the lands they had just journeyed through were a wonder to many and a balm after their recent losses. And for a time, before the next steps on their journey, they could sit with their former Lord's grandson and feel his compassion and his smouldering fire. Star Rider, son of the Stolen One.

So Elrohir presided and contemplated the years ahead, knowing his fate would come into the balance before long.

…

Elladan was away all summer, autumn and winter and did not return until mid spring.

He came bearing recently dried flowers from the South. Roses and Lillies, Violets and Travellers Joy. For the heats of the South had already brought flowers to the fields of Lebennin and the streets of Minas Tirith were now lined with green. So told Elladan, as he was welcomed back with joy and song to the high valley.

He brought gifts. One was a rolled canvas limned in the likeness of their sister Arwen robed in blue and crowned with silver stars, holding her precious child Eldarion under the flowering White Tree of Numenor, Aragorn standing by, likewise adorned. It was a special moment for Elrohir, long foreseen but not quite prepared for. He gazed long in silence and then asked for it to be framed and hung in the Hall of Fire.

After the festivities of welcome, Elladan disappeared with his brother into the former apartments of Elrond.

There, Elladan made a quiet announcement. He asked his brother's blessing to share his sister's fate. Elladan could play a role in the renewal of the Numenoreans. He expressed wished to bind himself to a noble-woman of Gondor, the grand-daughter of Denethor's sister. With Elrohir's blessing, she would be joining him in due course at Annuminas.

Although long foreboded, it was as a knife in Elrohir's heart.

Elrohir bowed low and then knelt wordlessly, touching his brother's knees tremulously. Then reaching up, eyes shimmering, he clung to his brother as they had often done as young children and like this they spent that night and much of the next, refusing all calls. Nestled, breathing, listening to each other's hearts, taking comfort in each other for the last time,

…

On a clear night not long thereafter, they ascended to the highest turret of Imladris. Flinging open the Western shutters, holding hands, they gazed out at the stars. There stars of the North glittered and Menelvagor and his Shining Belt were sinking inexorably from the zenith. Into the West they let their keen sight travel and there they stood for many moments in the way of elves, eyes glinting, murmuring the names of Eru, Manwe, Elbereth and their own parents.

As they gazed, a pair of meteors flared into the upper reaches of the high airs and shot in different directions. One travelled north. It flicked out of existence in the count of two breaths before it was halfway across the sky. The other travelled slowly West and it maintained a glow until it disappeared behind a dark fold in the downlands.

"Wish me joy brother, brief though the time shall prove", breathed Elladan.

…