Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, names and places belong to JRR Tolkein. No money is made from the writing or publication of this piece of fanwork.
Silent Night
by Etharei
~*~
Darkness settled in, both the literal and symbolic kind.
It was that time of year again in Imladris.
Centuries ago the Lady of Rivendell had been carried home by her sons, half-dead and battered both in body and soul. Elrond had put forth all his skill in the healing arts to bring her from the threshold of death, but whilst her body eventually repaired itself, her soul was beyond reaching. Months after the horrendous event, the family finally gave up, and accompanied her to the Grey Havens. Elrond could only hope that she had found some peace in the Undying Realms, and would be there to meet him when he himself left Middle-Earth.
Whilst the entire ordeal had taken place over several months, every year on the anniversary of the day she had been brought back, all the raw emotion the family had experienced would slither out of the bowels of memory.
For Elrond the grief of his wife's departure had nearly sent him to the Halls of Mandos, but love for his children and his duty as a Keeper of Vilya brought him back from the brink. Time gradually healed even the worst of the wounds in his heart and soul; yet one night in each year it felt as though it had only been yesterday that he had watched her sail away.
It had been a beautiful day in Mithlond, yet who could see the sunlight through all the tears? Even as the ship drew up its anchors Elrond held on the secret hope that she would change her mind, or he would find the strength to dive in after her. But neither happened; the family, clinging to each other, watched her stand on the prow of Cirdan's great vessel and gazed towards the West with more contentment in her expression than she had ever worn at home after the attack.
And what had hurt most was that she never looked back.
Sitting behind his desk in the manner of one who had every intention to stay there for the rest of the night, Elrond gazed unseeing at the roaring fire in the hearth. He tried to avoid sleep on this day, for nightmares were thrice worse and virtually inescapable, but he had been cheating his body of much-needed rest in the past few days.
Outside, the weather was dismal. Rain literally poured out of the sky, so much so that the occasional flashes of lightning could barely be seen. Bone-rattling thunder echoed through the protected valley. Elrond idly wondered if Rivendell was going to be an overgrown swamp in the morning, yet couldn't bring himself to be concerned with even that at the moment.
She never looked back
Bad weather, a significant increase in Orc skirmishes along the border, his best friends and most trusted counselors at Mithlond in a conference with Cirdan. In an ironic way, Middle-Earth seemed to be enthusiastically rising to the occasion.
With a quick swallow he finished the cup of miruvor, yet the potent drink had done little to ease his spirit. In the first few anniversaries after her departure, the family would gather together to take comfort in each other. Now his daughter spent more time in Lothlorien than at home, and his sons have gotten into the habit of barricaded themselves in their rooms, pretending that they were strong enough to face the memories.
Elrond knew they weren't. He hoped that they would at least take comfort in each other, for he feared that if left alone the recurring grief would kill them.
Against his will, sleep came over him, his exhausted body finally giving up. The nightmares began.
Unable to sleep upon hearing of his wife's capture, he had sensed his sons arriving from afar, and had ridden out with Glorfindel to meet them. He had seen the bloody mess in Elrohir's arms, hardly recognising his beloved wife. He had not known where to begin treating her. There wasn't a part of her that was untouched, unbroken. He also had had to see to Elladan, who had been grievously injured in their venture into the Orc dens.
The blood, the pain, the loss, all came back to him in a devastating avalanche.
He found it hard to breathe, hard to want to breathe. He wanted to disappear into oblivion, and the darkness willingly claimed him, wrapping itself around him in an asphyxiating shroud. All he could think of was his loss, and now all the grief in his life had come together to further sink him into shadow. The loss of his parents, his brother Elros, his mentor Gil-Galad. For so long he had been strong, and now it was too much.
He sought out images of his children, his people, even his father sailing far above the storm clouds. Instead he saw faces, faces long swept away by Fate and Time, to live only in his memory. Most prominent was his sense of loneliness; the emptiness that had once been his own twin, now lost to the Doom of Men.
Too much.
Suddenly, he felt something… new. Its warmth reached all the way into his heart, and he clung to it, like a drowning sailor to a rope that had appeared in front of him.
Slowly he felt the choking sea of grief wash over him. He breathed in a breathe he had not thought worth taking just a few moments before. And the first thing he saw when he came to was grey eyes gazing seriously into his.
In his wonder and semi-conscious state, Elrond did not see the youthful face bearing a child's innocence. He did not realise that this person was sitting on his lap, tiny arms holding onto his shoulders. What he saw was the eyes of his father, and his brother, looking back at him accusingly.
He had promised his mother that he would take care of his brother. He had promised his brother that he would take care of Gil-Galad, whom they had both loved like the father they had not had the chance to know. He had promised Gil-Galad that he would take care of Celebrian. And finally, he had promised Celebrian that he would take care of their children.
"Forgive me," he whispered. Not knowing what else there was to say, what else would be worth saying, he added, "I seemed to have forgotten quite a lot of things."
Estel smiled then, and nodded with a satisfied expression. Letting go of the half-Elf's shoulders,, he snuggled into Elrond's somewhat shaky embrace. Sighing contentedly, Elrond secured his hold on the small body against his chest, and went back to sleep.
~*~
Something drew her to Elladan's room.
Normally it would be the noise, usually after midnight and when all sensible persons would be trying to sleep. But tonight it was the utter silence.
After tucking Estel into bed she had wandered along the strangely empty halls of Imladris restlessly. She knew the significance of this day, for she had been informed by Glorfindel when it first came to pass during her first year in the elven-realm. The last two years she had occupied herself in the library, or in looking after Estel, so as not to intrude in the family grief.
But Estel was no longer a toddler and felt at home enough to sleep by himself. She couldn't sleep, and the library didn't seem so appealing tonight. Glorfindel and Erestor, whose company she enjoyed, were not expected back from the Grey Havens for at least another week. In this loud storm embroidery (a last resort) would probably irritate her rather than calm her mind.
She had decided to head for her room and look for something to do. Her quarters were opposite Estel's, which were next to the twins'. She had stopped mid-step outside Elladan's doorway.
Wondering if the silence meant that something bad had happened to the normally exuberant twins, she knocked lightly. Hearing no answer, nor any sound save rain from inside, she carefully entered.
Two large forms were huddled together on the bed. In the light of a half-melted candle, Elladan and Elrohir appeared to still be wearing their day clothes, though the heavy maroon cloaks were lying on the floor. To Gilraen's alarm the balcony doors were wide open, letting in wind and rain. Quickly closing them, she quietly approached the unmoving half-Elves.
The first time she had seen the twin sons of Elrond, she had remarked to Arathorn that they were remarkably beautiful. Her heart ached still at the merest memory of her lost husband, but she resolutely continued her train of thought. Since that first experience she had been exposed to more of the fair folk, of course, yet her opinions haven't changed. In her eyes (and, from listening to the Elven maidens of Imladris, there were a lot of other eyes that agreed), Elladan and Elrohir possessed an innate grace and majesty; their mixed heritage seemed to only enhance their beauty rather than mar it. They were as fair as full-blooded Elves, yet the blood of Men made them stand out, adding an exotic touch to their features that made them appear even more so. They were tall, a whisker taller than their father, and well-built from the constant use of weapons.
But they looked very different from their usual proud and self-assured selves now, curled up and limbs intertwining. They looked much, much younger, and Gilraen knew that before this moment she had only been seeing their outward projection of strength in public. Sympathy filled her heart at the sight:
Elladan, the older, held his brother protectively, though his own face was streaked with tears. The fronts of both their tunics were wet. She touched them lightly on the brow; their skin was cold yet slick with sweat. Locks of long damp ebony hair were stuck to their faces.. Shuffling closer she saw that their open eyes were blank in elven sleep, yet instead of the peace of good dreams they held utter horror as they battled nightmares. Lips moved soundlessly; Elrohir's bloodied lower lip looked like he had bitten down on it hard.
Maternal instincts flared to life. Before she knew what she was doing, Gilraen had sat on one side of the bed and began gently stroking their faces. For some reason they relaxed at her touch, and their trust in someone so new-come to their lives gratified her enormously. Without waking they shifted, and she instinctively moved further into the huddle, so that somehow Gilraen found herself in the middle of the bed, resting against the backboard, holding a twin on either arm whilst crooning a soft lullaby.
Now that they were no longer trying to appear strong and untouchable, she saw that in a sense they were still… children. Without the indifferent Elven mask and the burden of their years she could see traces of young, innocent Elflings. In her mind she thought she could see what they must have looked like when they were but a few years old. Their faces were identical, yet over the three years of her stay she had come to notice minute differences in their features. She could not describe these differences with any clarity to anyone else, yet most of the time she could now instinctively tell which twin was which.
On her left arm lay Elrohir, his face half-buried in her mass of mahogany hair. The Elf that was a terror to the various members of the household with his ingenious pranks and sense of humour. But in a cruel twist, she knew- from Glorfindel's reports- that he was the accounted best tactician in Imladris; his skill at pulling of tricks and getting out of trouble gave him the ability to position forces in the most advantageous places. Erestor, who was usually the recipient of many of the aforementioned pranks, whispered once that Elrohir had inherited most of Celebrian's character, and, for some strange reason, Elros, Elrond's own lost twin and the predecessor of Gilraen's kin.
On her right was Elladan, his arm around her torso, fingers digging into her skin through her dress. He was the more responsible one, who Erestor claimed took after his father most. A brilliant tracker, probably from having to chase down his clever twin on more than one occasion. From Glorfindel she learned that he was the stronger fighter, yet Gilraen suspected that his strength came from a sense of responsibility. As the elder he assumed that he should be the one taking care of his brother. Yet now, looking at his stricken face, she realised that he was the gentler of the two. Very much like Elrond indeed.
She wondered who the dominant twin is. It was generally believed that it was the older one, yet Gilraen knew this was not necessarily the case. In the case of the sons of Elrond, she suspected that it was Elrohir. Elladan was a natural leader, but after observing the two closely she knew that Elrohir, ultimately, got the final say. Or at least he would, except that most of the time he'd let Elladan make all the decisions.
As Gilraen turned the question over and over in her mind, the night wore on and their struggles intensified, though from the way they were clinging onto her Gilraen knew that it wasn't against her. She could feel their heartbeats thundering as they fought against their nightmares. They moaned and sobbed, tears increasing by the minute. Occasionally the woman would hear a whispered word.
"Nana!"
"Nana!"
She froze, hearing a faint but unmistakable call. What was she doing? They probably thought she was their mother! What would they say upon waking up? What if Lord Elrond came upon them now? Estel and her could get banished from Rivendell!
Carefully, despite a rising panic, she tried to pry the strong grips on her. But the twins only clung to her more, like she was a lifeline, and from the terror in their eyes, perhaps she was. Perhaps leaving now would only sink them further in whatever horror was torturing their dreams.
Finally giving up and settling back down again, she fervently hoped that once the nightmares end they would relax, and she could escape before they awoke. Fool woman, her mother's voice rang through her mind, this is what you get for going where you were not supposed to.
Helpless, yet not really minding her position, she sighed and resolved to apologise profusely to them and their father come morning. It would be most embarrassing, for sure. Still, she felt strangely… content.
With a start she realised that she had been smoothing back the damp hair from the identical faces. She stopped, but then realised that the twins had calmed slightly and shifted even closer to her. Well, as she was trapped there any way…
She nervously drew them closer to her. "Hush, little ones," she whispered. "Nana is not here, but I am watching over you."
To be honest with herself, seeing them tormented by nightmares distressed her greatly. She wanted to comfort them, keep them safe. She felt the same way for them as she felt for Estel. This revelation startled her, especially so soon after losing her beloved Arathorn, but perhaps it was what she needed to keep living. She desperately needed a reason to live, at least for a while yet. She knew she could never take another husband. And what better reason was there than for the love of children, even ones not her own?
I love you, she said in the depths of her mind. I love you both, and I will take care of you.
As if they had hear her, both twins broke into a small but genuine smile. Gradually their breathing calmed, their tears subsided. They even relaxed, though still held her tightly to prevent her from moving. Yet she no longer felt inclined to. She would apologise to the whole of Imladris in the morning, but now it was night, and the children needed comroting.
Sighing contentedly, she kissed Elladan and Elrohir on the forehead and drifted off to sleep.
~*~
"Ai, Erestor!" Grumbled Glorfindel as he staggered into the darkened House. Ignoring Erestor's pointed look at his muddy boots and the puddle forming at his feet, he took off his drenched outer coat and gave it to a startled servant. "Whatever possessed me to listen to you and agree to come here in the middle of such weather!"
Erestor couldn't help smiling at the fair-haired Elf's tone. "Because Elrond needs us here, and our business at Mithlond was done anyway." Quickly stripping down to their inner tunics and breeches, the two quietly made their way through the empty hallways. The Lord's bedchamber was empty, and appeared to have been unused that day.
"He's always in the study," whispered Erestor.
As they turned to leave, Glorfindel noticed that Elladan's door was slightly ajar. Remembering that the twins were usually worse off than their father at these occasions, he peered inside. His mouth dropped open in wonder, causing Erestor to shove him away a bit to see what was inside.
"Is that Lady Gilraen?" the counselor eventually asked, gaping as well.
"Aye, I believe so." In the dim light of a single burnt-down candle that had probably been forgotten, they could see the pale form of Gilraen lying fast asleep in the centre of the bed, both twins cuddled up to her. It might have been a trick of the light, but the Elves thought they could see a faint smile on all three faces. On silent feet Erestor went in and blew out the candle, and the two closed the door as they left.
"Now for the father," murmured Glorfindel, relief in his voice in the knowledge that at least the twins were taken care of this night, though the source of comfort was definitely a surprise he would need some hours to fully digest. But he thought he could understand the situation; Elladan and Elrohir had needed the touch of a mother-figure for so long, after their sister began spending more time in Lothlorian. Perhaps the decision to integrate Gilraen and Estel into the family had unexpected benefits.
They stopped outside the study door, glancing at each other with troubled eyes, both dreading what they may find inside. It was Erestor who slowly opened the door, and they stepped inside, only to stop in their tracks.
The untended fire had burned low. A half-empty flask of miruvor stood on the desk. And Lord Elrond of Rivendell slept peacefully on his chair, a child cradled protectively against his chest. Shuffling closer, they saw that they too had small smiles on their faces. Wordlessly the two friends exited, taking the apparently unneeded miruvor, and closing the door behind them.
Outside, the storm clouds cleared, and the light of Eärendil seemed brighter than it had ever been for a long time. And far, far away, a lone figure looked up at the Star, and saw what he saw.
She smiled into the silent night, content.