"I have chosen a mortal life."
The words struck Elrond as if an orc arrow had pierced his heart. He stared at his daughter in sadness, his youngest child that would leave his life forever. He turned and walked slowly to the balcony, his chin to his chest.
"Ada," began Arwen uncertainly, knowing how much she was hurting her father with her decision.
"Leave me," he said quietly, wishing time to think. He heard her soft elvish footsteps leave his study and the door quietly close behind her.
For Lord Elrond Peredhil, ruler of Imladris, the choice given to the children of Elwing by Manwë was a curse. It was ages ago that the choice was given to Eärendil and his descendants which kindred they would belong to. Both Eärendil and Elwing had chosen to be judged among the firstborn. Elrond had also made that choice. But his brother Elros had chosen differently.
"I have chosen a mortal life." It was those words that Elros had used to tell his brother Elrond of his choice. Elrond had not believed him at first, not truly understanding his decision. But he had been forced to live with it as he sat next to Elros' deathbed.
The grief of that day washed over him anew. Elrond and Elros had been through much together. Maglor had captured them when they were young and relied on each other during their captivity. Elrond knew if Elros had not been there, he might have been in a direr situation than he had been. Though Maglor became fond of the two brothers, Elrond and Elros were the only family that each other would have. Since they would never see their parents Eärendil and Elwing again after their capture, they became closer than they already were.
Elrond had made his choice to be a member of the firstborn soon thereafter. When Elros chose to be among Men, it wasn't until he began to fade away in death that Elrond was made aware of the consequences.
"You have been more than my brother," spoke Elros as he lay upon his deathbed. "You have always been my greatest friend."
Elrond leaned over his dying brother. He reached over and brushed back a strand of white hair behind a rounded ear before brushing one of his own ebony locks behind his pointed ear. They were once so alike, yet now they were so different.
"I do not wish to see you go Elros," spoke Elrond quietly with tears in his eyes. For though Elros had lived many lifetimes over his five hundred years, it would never be enough for Elrond.
"Yet go I must," Elros replied, softer. "May father watch over you from the night sky, and may Elbereth keep you in her graces." He clasped forearms with Elrond in the warrior way before his eyes grew vacant in death. Tears rolled down Elrond's cheeks as he winged a silent prayer to the Valar, begging them to watch over his brother in his journey to where Elrond would never pass.
"My dearest brother and friend," whispered Elrond. He leaned down and kissed his brother's forehead. With a trembling hand, he reached up and closed the eyes of Elros Tar-Minyatur, the first king of the Númenor. He had never felt grief so great as that of losing his brother.
But it was going to happen again. Elrond had experienced great pains in his life. He had held his friend and lord, Gil-galad, the last High King of the Noldor as he passed away on the slopes of Mount Doom. He had watched his beloved wife Celebrían sail west after he had been unable to heal her inner wounds from her capture by the orcs. And now he would lose his daughter, Arwen, the Evenstar of her people and her father's eyes.
Laughter pulled him out of his sorrowful thoughts as he stood at the balcony to his study. Elrond's twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir had returned from anther of their orc hunts. The laughter had come from the twins as they told their sister some story or other. They sobered as Arwen began to speak, telling them of her choice. The twins quickly looked up at the balcony when she was done.
Elrond watched his children for a few moments before turning away. He had raised them well; he had no doubt about that. But that did not stop him from worrying about Elladan and Elrohir when they were on an orc hunt, seasoned warriors though they were. And he still watched over Arwen as any protective father would.
Elrond looked around his study; around at the mounds of books he had acquired over the ages. Yet not one of them could help him. He would feel the pain of Elros' death again. He would feel the pain of losing his King, Gil-galad again. He would feel the pain of watching his wife Celebrían sail west again. He would feel the pain of losing his only daughter.
Elrond sat down heavily into a chair. No one should have to outlive their children. But he would. So Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris, wept silently for the death of one not yet gone.
The words struck Elrond as if an orc arrow had pierced his heart. He stared at his daughter in sadness, his youngest child that would leave his life forever. He turned and walked slowly to the balcony, his chin to his chest.
"Ada," began Arwen uncertainly, knowing how much she was hurting her father with her decision.
"Leave me," he said quietly, wishing time to think. He heard her soft elvish footsteps leave his study and the door quietly close behind her.
For Lord Elrond Peredhil, ruler of Imladris, the choice given to the children of Elwing by Manwë was a curse. It was ages ago that the choice was given to Eärendil and his descendants which kindred they would belong to. Both Eärendil and Elwing had chosen to be judged among the firstborn. Elrond had also made that choice. But his brother Elros had chosen differently.
"I have chosen a mortal life." It was those words that Elros had used to tell his brother Elrond of his choice. Elrond had not believed him at first, not truly understanding his decision. But he had been forced to live with it as he sat next to Elros' deathbed.
The grief of that day washed over him anew. Elrond and Elros had been through much together. Maglor had captured them when they were young and relied on each other during their captivity. Elrond knew if Elros had not been there, he might have been in a direr situation than he had been. Though Maglor became fond of the two brothers, Elrond and Elros were the only family that each other would have. Since they would never see their parents Eärendil and Elwing again after their capture, they became closer than they already were.
Elrond had made his choice to be a member of the firstborn soon thereafter. When Elros chose to be among Men, it wasn't until he began to fade away in death that Elrond was made aware of the consequences.
"You have been more than my brother," spoke Elros as he lay upon his deathbed. "You have always been my greatest friend."
Elrond leaned over his dying brother. He reached over and brushed back a strand of white hair behind a rounded ear before brushing one of his own ebony locks behind his pointed ear. They were once so alike, yet now they were so different.
"I do not wish to see you go Elros," spoke Elrond quietly with tears in his eyes. For though Elros had lived many lifetimes over his five hundred years, it would never be enough for Elrond.
"Yet go I must," Elros replied, softer. "May father watch over you from the night sky, and may Elbereth keep you in her graces." He clasped forearms with Elrond in the warrior way before his eyes grew vacant in death. Tears rolled down Elrond's cheeks as he winged a silent prayer to the Valar, begging them to watch over his brother in his journey to where Elrond would never pass.
"My dearest brother and friend," whispered Elrond. He leaned down and kissed his brother's forehead. With a trembling hand, he reached up and closed the eyes of Elros Tar-Minyatur, the first king of the Númenor. He had never felt grief so great as that of losing his brother.
But it was going to happen again. Elrond had experienced great pains in his life. He had held his friend and lord, Gil-galad, the last High King of the Noldor as he passed away on the slopes of Mount Doom. He had watched his beloved wife Celebrían sail west after he had been unable to heal her inner wounds from her capture by the orcs. And now he would lose his daughter, Arwen, the Evenstar of her people and her father's eyes.
Laughter pulled him out of his sorrowful thoughts as he stood at the balcony to his study. Elrond's twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir had returned from anther of their orc hunts. The laughter had come from the twins as they told their sister some story or other. They sobered as Arwen began to speak, telling them of her choice. The twins quickly looked up at the balcony when she was done.
Elrond watched his children for a few moments before turning away. He had raised them well; he had no doubt about that. But that did not stop him from worrying about Elladan and Elrohir when they were on an orc hunt, seasoned warriors though they were. And he still watched over Arwen as any protective father would.
Elrond looked around his study; around at the mounds of books he had acquired over the ages. Yet not one of them could help him. He would feel the pain of Elros' death again. He would feel the pain of losing his King, Gil-galad again. He would feel the pain of watching his wife Celebrían sail west again. He would feel the pain of losing his only daughter.
Elrond sat down heavily into a chair. No one should have to outlive their children. But he would. So Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris, wept silently for the death of one not yet gone.