Second Movement: Sunlit Rhapsody

            The sound of his footfalls treading heavily across the worn floors scarred the usually serene atmosphere of Imladris that Elrohir had come to savor. Though the Firstborn were known to walk lightly, his frustrated steps scraped and grated every grain and fibre in the wooden boards and created a hurtful disharmony to his sensitive ears. He heeded it not; rather, his mind was on other matters and, though displeasing, the din was the least of his worries.

            In truth, Elrohir was more desperate and frightened than livid. He could not let his twin succumb to Man's Doom; why could not Elladan see? Should he choose mortality over immortality, Estel and Arwen would be lost to him; Elrond and Celebrían would be lost to him; Arda, all that he loved and cherished so deeply, would be lost to him. And not least of all, Elrohir would be lost, but not just to Elladan: if Elladan became mortal, he would perish. Elrohir did not wish to lose a part of himself.

            Though they had considered the subject of their most recent quarrel quite seriously before, never before had any disagreement with his brother ended as such. On most occasions, it took nearly naught for one to see through the eyes of the other.  In fact, it was not unusual for one to share the other's unspoken thoughts, knowing fully that it was what his brother had in his own mind. Occasionally, the views of Elladan would differ from Elrohir's own, but the quarrels between them that resulted were petty and merely for the sake of witty banter. Little enthusiasm was held in either argument save, of course, for the mirth of opposing the brother whose views he had so often shared.

            So consumed in thought was he that if Elrohir were to continue thinking instead of pausing when he did, he might not have noticed the door to his right, regardless of his keen vision.  As it was, the door was not at all unusual save for its state: it had been long since this door had allowed entrance to the room beyond, yet as Elrohir stopped to study it, he saw that it was separated from its frame and stood partly open.  A lone sunbeam shone through the crack and landed at Elrohir's feet; he looked down through the tender glow and saw the dust floating idly in its warmth, saw the worn floorboards welcome the sliver of light as if greeting a lost friend.  The sunlight felt soothing and healed his feet momentarily of their heavy steps.

            Unbeknownst to himself until this very moment, he had unconsciously selected this particular passage to his room, unaware that it would lead him to this door.  How the door had come to be unlocked, Elrohir would never know.  Long had it been since he had beheld Celebrían's chambers, though from what he could see, it had changed little in his absence.  Occasionally, he knew, his father had come here for quiet reflection, but for so long the entrance to the room had remained closed; it seemed painful memories were easier dealt with that way. 

            Momentarily forgetting his anger, Elrohir stopped to consider this room and the one who had long ago lived in it.  He traced the wooden door that cared for it, ran his smooth fingers over a few rough and jagged cracks as if willing them to heal, but the crevices were too deep and too empty and could not comply with the fingers' silent plea.  Memory was in this grain; it was in everything in and around this room.  Elrohir idly wondered why it was that different Races saw only perfection and beauty when considering his home: if one regarded it closely, if one took the time to study the worn floors, the chipped pillars, the cracked wooden doors, one would see that it, too, had been unable to resist time and all its harsh conditions completely.  It was in no way unkempt, but it had flaws and imperfections just as any other home might.  An intense desire and curiosity to see the room before him gradually overwhelmed Elrohir; slowly, as if expecting a hindrance, he pushed the door open and took a cautious step inside.

            Immediately a sea of memories flooded him and he closed his eyes to steady his staggering feet.  Visions of long ago passed before his eyelids as clear as starlight, and the sunbeams streaming from the open balcony tasted sweet and heavy upon his lips.  He had forgotten the smell of Celebrían's garden below these chambers, forgotten the sound of the waterfall just outside.  Often had his senses been delighted here as a mere child, and often had he marveled at the way the sunlight had felt in this room; so untainted, so new.  It felt this way even now.

            Images danced in his thoughts in a colourful blur, soothing and yet agitating, too loud and yet too soft.  He let them continue hastily on their way, reluctant to stop them and yet wishing for a reprise.  At length he grasped just one and held on tightly, and found himself glancing into the past, into a night he had forgotten until now.  It had been Celebrían's last night in Arda, in Imladris… in her love's arms.  The memory stirring him now was of the unspoken conversation that took place that night, one that he was not supposed to be present for.  The moonless sky and thick shadows had concealed him well that evening.

            He recalled Elrond and Celebrían standing speechless in this room, each too afraid to break the inky threads of silence.  He had held her tightly while the wind changed the thick curtains into billowing apparitions, cold and flowing, a contrast to his warm strength and silence.  Elrohir watched the exchange from his place in the shadows, and knew that cold of the starless night could not smother the warmth in the hearts of the pair before him, the couple that seemed so separate from himself, somehow, as if he had never known them and was simply watching strangers.  Elrond had understood then the concept that Elrohir had only just begun to grasp: Elrond understood his love's crucial need to pass to Valinor, and would not prevent her from leaving out of his own selfishness.  It was because he loved her that he could bear to watch her leave.

            With a quiet sigh, Elrohir broke of the reverie and slowly sank to the bed, drained from the memory.  He felt somewhat vulnerable now, curled up into himself.  Vivid recollections like this often uncovered him to his feelings beyond hasty initial reactions, and now was no exception.  Elrohir reached into himself, into the deepest opening of his heart, begging to know what he should be feeling.  He searched it thoroughly, perhaps for something to verify his anger towards his brother.  Instead, he found naught but a bottomless well of growing acceptance.  It was not a feeling of realization that he had found, as one might expect, for he supposed he had known all along that he and his brothers' fates had been sealed and only presently could acknowledge it.  The feeling now in his heart had not been something he was eager to share before this moment, not even with himself, but something in the way Celebrían's room smelled, something in the way her gardens looked so lovely beneath the cloudless sky stirred his very soul. 

            Slowly, reluctantly, he rose from the bed and left, closing the door on the room, once again sealing in its memories.  For a few moments' time, Elrohir let his head rest against the aged wood.  Then gradually he left his mother's chambers and returned to his own, his footfalls heavy with silent contemplation.  He knew now what must be done.  Doubtless his brother would not be willing to have his company at the present; Elrohir would have to hold his thoughts until the evening.  There would be much to say.