Dagor Dagorath
Disclaimers: The characters and the world all belong to J.R.R.Tolkien , his estate and New Line Cinema. I own nothing except the details of the plot which came from my own twisted imagination.
Rating: G.
Summary: After the greatest darkness comes the brightest dawn. When all else has passed away, this is left. A little Elrond/Celebrían and Aragorn/Arwen. Set after the Dagor Dagorath – the battle at the end of the world. Short and sweet.
A/N: This does contain some Silmarillion elements, but I'm posting it in this category as it mainly deals with Lord of the Rings characters.
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There was a great light, greater than anything he had ever imagined, and suddenly he was no longer standing on the field of battle, his cloak rent and tattered, soaked black with blood. His shoulder no longer stung from the wound which had ripped through his armour, and his arms no longer ached with the weight of wielding his sword for hour upon hour. By his side there stood no legions of fierce-faced and desperate elves and men, the younger race clutching strange new weapons in tired hands, all facing the unnameable foe before them.
Instead, there was an unearthly stillness, and he wondered if death had stolen up on him unawares, taking him into the embrace of Mandos for these last few hours before the Halls were cast upon and the fear released.
With all-consuming dread, another possibility occurred to him, and he thought that Morgoth might have triumphed against the men and elves and Valar, and that all the life-force of the world was spent, and that he saw all he had loved in its final destruction, his weary eyes unable to comprehend it.
Then he felt a warm hand envelope his own and, looking sideways nervously, he beheld his beloved Celebrían, clothed all in shining silver, her tender gaze fixed on his face.
Raising his hand to smear away the traces of blood from his face, he realised that there was no blood and that instead of the livery of Ereinion Gil-galad which he had worn to ride out once more to stand and fall beside his kin, he was garbed in red velvet, and his back was not bowed by armour.
Celebrían touched his injured shoulder, and with surprise he felt no pain.
"See, melethron-nîn," she murmured. "There are no wounds here, neither in body nor in spirit, for we have passed beyond the circles of Arda to Eru Ilúvatar, as was foretold long ago."
And without trying to understand, he knew the truth of her words in his heart and rejoiced in it.
Pressing an adoring kiss to her lips, he became aware that what he had imagined to be silence was instead a glorious harmony wrought of many mingled voices, and soaring above it all, a melody which was so beautiful that it hurt to think about it. Even all the long ages he had spent in blessed Valinor, hearing the echoes of the Song of the Ainur had not prepared him for this.
"What is it?" he questioned, his voice hoarse with barely restrained emotion.
A voice which was not Celebrían's nor akin to any he had ever known answered, deep and kind, at once grave and suffused with boundless joy.
"It is the dew on the grass. It is the first whisper of spring. It is the highest mountain and the deepest ocean. It is the peace of midnight and the clamour of the city in the morning of its splendour."
Wrapping her in his arms, Celebrían whispered in Elrond's ear, "It is the music of the Ainur in fresh union with their Lord, but it is ours too, and the music of your brother's kin."
Although he had loved her for ages beyond reckoning, the elf had never found her voice more fair than then.
Suddenly they were in a garden, but in truth Elrond could not say that they had not always been there. Crowds surrounded them, neither jostling nor heaving, but merely a delighted sea of beings, their faces lit with a light beyond the Two Trees of Valinor in the Day before days.
Linking his arm in Celebrían's he moved among the throng. Here he saw Círdan the Shipwright, there Legolas Thranduilion with his arm around his wife's waist. Briefly he clasped arms with Gil-galad before the older elf engulfed him in a bear-hug.
So many faces he recognised … The echoes of so many familiar voices reached his amazed ears.
Abruptly he sank to his knees in the sweet grass, reaching for the hands of a child-sized creature. Celebrían never left his side as she joined him on the ground.
"Frodo Baggins," his joy pealed through the brilliance. The hobbit embraced him impulsively, looking younger even than he had at their first meeting in Rivendell.
Ruffling Frodo's wayward curls with a trembling hand, he asked, "Can this be real? Are you indeed here?"
Sam Gamgee, standing behind the other hobbit, guffawed loudly.
"Yes my lord…"
The elf stopped Frodo.
"'Tis merely Elrond."
The flow of the hobbit's chatter barely paused.
"…Elrond. It seems you are among the last of us to believe it."
And in that moment, with the hands of the perian in his, and Celebrían resting against him, Elrond did believe, and something which had long been hidden awoke within him.
Rising once more he buried his face in his wife's hair and, although laughter escaped his lips, he wept, allowing all sadness to flow from him in salty droplets.
"And what of mortal men, celeb loth-nîn?" he said softly.
"Look about you, dear my love," was all the answer she gave. "Look about you."
He did as she bid him and with wondering eyes saw a face which could only belong to one other.
He closed the intervening space with bounding strides, although in that place of light and life there seemed to be no space.
"Pen nîn tithen!" he cried, whirling Elros into his arms. "My brother, my brother, how I have missed you! The years never dulled that pain."
He held his younger twin away from himself, bestowing a kiss on that smooth brow, as Elros responded.
"And I have missed you, elfling. We will never be parted again, for the fates of elves and men do not lie so far apart. Did I not tell you so once?"
"Aye, you did, although I did not believe it at the time," Elrond chuckled wistfully. "But come now, for you must meet my wife and children."
Sweeping a courteous bow to the silver-haired elf, Elros followed his brother, his wife beside him and a great multitude of curious men behind.
Branches, laden with sweet flowers, waved lazily above their heads, dusting their hair and clothes with petals of a colour no words could describe. The light, which seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, shone on the golden bark and leaves so deeply green that neither gemstones, nor any beauty fashioned by hands which suffered and hearts which doubted could compare. They passed through this landscape of bountiful joy, and ceaseless awe was within them.
Elrond espied a figure in the distance, raven hair trailing down her back and her face uplifted to the light.
"Undómiel," he called out, not understanding Celebrían's warning touch. "Our Undómiel."
As he drew nearer, he realised that he was mistaken and that the elf-maiden was Lúthien, with Beren's hand entwined in hers. Even as he accepted his ancestors' greetings, he reeled, uncertain.
"Fear not, herven," Celebrían said, and Elros also reassured him. "She is here."
They continued on their path, and Elrond's legs trembled despite the glory of the place which neither passed nor faded, which could not be cast down nor touched by the malice of evil. Even amid all this, he marvelled that his wife was so assured.
"I know your thoughts, meleth-nîn," she smiled, "but I feel her here, as surely as I feel you and my parents and our sons. Open your thoughts."
Reluctantly, fearfully, Elrond did so, and then, without warning, he felt a feather-light touch against his mind and he gasped.
He took a few steps forward and saw her before him, her face radiant and as young as a newly-fledged bird, but as old as the stars.
"Ada, Ammë!"
Arwen flung herself into his arms and as he cradled her close he could feel her heart beating against his own, unsure though he was that either pulse was entirely real in this place.
"Long have I awaited you," she breathed as her mother joined the circle.
"Long?" Elrond asked quizzically.
"Long indeed, for the Doom of Men was not as you feared and although I have known much joy, I have remembered your grief and held it close to me."
Over her silk-clad shoulder Elrond locked eyes with the man who hung a little back. Here Aragorn Elessar seemed elven-fair, his grey eyes reflecting the light. Freeing himself affectionately from his daughter's hold Elrond walked over to the once King of Gondor and Arnor.
"My son," he whispered, and clutched the man he had seen as a babe and dreamed of as an old man to himself. "Estel-nîn, you have returned to us."
Aragorn viewed him uncertainly.
"You are not angry?" he inquired.
"Whatever anger I may have shown was merely fear disguised, and selfishness," the elf laughed, released from the bonds of terror. "We meet now beyond the ending of the world, and all the sorrows which were contained therein are forgotten, and all the bitter words which may once have been spoken are passed away.
"Ada," Aragorn sighed and cast himself into the arms of his foster-father. Without hesitation, the velvet clad limbs enfolded him.
"'Tis alright, Estel. All is as it should be. Now return to my daughter, for I do not wish you to be parted."
Without a word Aragorn retreated until he held Arwen in his arms and she nuzzled into his shoulder contentedly.
Only then did Elrond's watchful gaze fall upon his sons. Swiftly assuring himself that they were as well as they had been during the heat of battle, and indescribably better, and that indeed they too seemed to be lit from within, he turned to the final figure.
"Mellon-iaur," he said joyfully. "How fare you?"
"I am as always," Glorfindel chuckled. "But I did not much enjoy my second stay in the Halls of Awaiting, short though it was."
Elrond winced, remembering seeing his comrade fall under the hail of battle, but the golden-haired elf's tight grip recalled him to reality.
"All that is gone," the lord of the House of the Golden Flower reminded him.
"Aye," Elrond responded. "Here there is no doubt, nor sorrow, nor anguish; all such things are sped away. Once I wondered what this would be like, and I was sorely afraid, but now I am afflicted no longer."
He turned back to the assembled gathering, feeling Celebrían rest her head against his shoulder in a gesture of love, and he looked at the man at the front of the mass.
"May I introduce you to my family, my brother?"
FINIS
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Translations:
Fear – souls.
Melethron-nîn – my (male) lover
Perian – Halfling, hobbit
Celeb loth-nîn – my silver flower
Pen nîn tithen – my little one
Herven – husband
Meleth-nîn – my love
Ada – father, daddy (shortening of Adar – father).
Ammë – mother, mummy.
Estel-nîn – my Estel (lit. my hope)
Mellon-iaur – my old friend.