Author's Notes: This will go one more chapter, as again, I've run a bit longer than I intended and the story seemed to come to a natural break point.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien. Translations of Elvish (Sindarin, unless otherwise noted) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.
Elrond
Gil-galad had gone white, his pale elven skin so bloodless that his eyes were rimmed with dark shadows and his lips had turned grey. So intense were the elf's emotions, Elrond could almost taste the metallic flavor of shock in his own mouth.
The King was at last moved to action. Taking up the ribbon and the note, he strode through the tower toward Celebrian's rooms. Elrond already guessed they would not find her, but still, he stared at the deserted rooms. In a single afternoon, the elf-maid had erased several decades of residence at the tower, leaving nothing but the scent of violets in her wake.
"Perhaps…she cannot have left the city. She will have to engage a ship, she could not have done that in an afternoon." His duplicity was now complete, Elrond realized miserably.
"And what should I do, if she is still in Forlond?" Gil-galad's harsh laugh jolted him. "Have her dragged back to the palace by my guards?" He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. "No. She is gone," he breathed, as if considering the implications of this for the first time.
Dreams and plans, hopes for a family, had vanished with five simple words. "Leave me," he said tersely.
"Gil… ." The words died on his lips.
The King turned blue-grey eyes on his friend, their brightness dimmed by the heavy storm clouds of his memory - memory of the day he had learned of Nargothrond's fall, that his entire family had perished. The same sense of utter aloneness pervaded the elf. "Leave me!"
Elrond complied, his guilty feet only too eager to flee from these first drops of rain, their warning hardly worthy of the tempest to come. He retired to his rooms, but he could find no solace in the books that usually brought comfort to him. Specters of guilt swarmed around him, their hollow eyes accusing, their bony fingers pointing with condemnation.
A servant came to the door, plainly uneasy with the mood he sensed in his King. "You are wanted in the King's library, Herdir Elrond," he announced. [1]
Gil-galad sat with his chin resting on his steepled fingers. He did not even acknowledge Elrond's presence, so wrapped was he in his thoughts.
'Thoughts of what?' Elrond wondered. Grief? Cold fury? He had always had a sense of his friend's heart, but now, he felt as if he stood before a stranger.
At last, without looking up, Gil-galad gave him leave to sit down. By course of habit, Elrond would have already taken a chair. He did not stand on formality with his friend. He was not so sure, however, that the elf who sat brooding before him was his friend, and it disturbed him that Gil-galad did not think his invitation strange. The very stillness of the King disturbed him; Gil-galad was predictable in his reaction to adversity. He paced. Movement seemed to help him to sort through the tumble in his mind, and he did his best thinking on foot.
His eyes were still stormy, but distant, and he spoke as if from far away. "It was Galadriel. She must have interfered somehow, must have said something to turn away her daughter's heart."
Elrond felt as if a stone had dropped into his stomach. 'No, mellonen, you need look no further than before you to see the wolf in your midst,' he chastised himself silently. Aloud, he spoke in defense of Galadriel. "She would not meddle in her daughter's life to such an extent. And Celebrian is not one to be easily cowed by her mother." [2]
He might have found the wall more attentive to his words. Gil-galad had already turned his mind to the treachery of his kin. He gave his trust with a jaded eye, allowing few into his confidence. He had seen how trust had robbed him of his beloved kinsman Finrod, of his family. Trust had made him a King too young. This maid had found her way into his heart, his trust, and he suffered now for his lack of watchfulness.
It would not happen again.
Eregion, 1697 Second Age
"Elrond, there are many who can go no further without rest. The children, the wounded - either we stop or we leave them behind."
Elrond turned to face the speaker, recognizing a voice he had not heard in many ennin. Though she wore not a gown but leggings and tunic, and had woven her beautiful hair into a practical braid, Celebrian had only grown more lovely since leaving Forlond and her jilted suitor. [3]
She might have told him she had changed in mind as well as body. She was no longer the elf-maid of the past. She joined Elrond as his equal, as a leader among the refugees. [4]
"Someone must look after them," she had explained to her father when they parted ways. Her parents and all who could wield a sword proposed to draw Sauron's forces from the ruined city toward Hadhodrond; Galadriel counted on help from Durin's folk. They hoped this ruse would allow Elrond to escape with the rest of the survivors. [5]
Elrond's party had traveled almost without pause since the previous morning and thus far, they had seen no sign of pursuit. Elrond could not take comfort in this. "We must not tarry long," he said reluctantly, giving the signal to halt.
Elros rushed into the camp of Maedhros and Maglor. In his excitement, he failed to signal ahead and the elves standing watch only recognized the Peredhel at the last moment. Oblivious to his near miss, he tore through the camp in search of his brother.
"There are men by the Gelion - Hadorians. They go north to the war. Come, Elrond, let us join them." Elros' eyes shone, his head filled with the romantic stories Maedhros told of the first wars of Beleriand.
Elrond frowned. He could handle a sword, of course, and had sent a few of Morgoth's creatures to whatever end awaited them. Yet, he had seen also the gore behind the romance, had treated the wounds won in battle.
"Perhaps we should consider this more carefully, muindor." [6]
"They move north in the morning. Besides, it is our duty. Our forefathers were princes among men - how can we stand by and let our people fight while we hide in the wilderness?"
Elros always had felt more kinship to their mortal side, but Elrond could not dispute that they had a duty - were these not the people of their grandfather Tuor? In the end, Elrond could not let his brother go off without him, and so they had gone to war.
His brother's death had shocked him. Having chosen to join the kindred of elves, he henceforth found time less precious. At the age of five hundred, he remained a young elf, yet his brother had become a very old man. He had already said his farewells to his brother, had already accepted his death. This he had done when Elros had made his decision. Their parting at Mithlond had been awkward; their respective choices had severed the bond of twinning, and his brother had become strange to him. Elrond preferred to remember his brother as he had been before Eönwë told them of the Valar's decree - as he had been in his dream: impetuous, fiery, full of the spark of youth. By attrition, they had both become captains during the war, but Elros reveled in the endless discussions of strategy; Elros had the charisma to lead and the enthusiasm to love it. The brother who had left Mithlond for Númenor had been every inch a king, a man of great stature, but he was no longer the twin Elrond had once known. [7]
The midday sun hid somewhere in the clouds and the weather was cool. Elves slept in the open, wrapped in their cloaks. He stood and stretched. With the gloomy weather, Sauron's forces would be on the move. Every minute they rested brought the enemy closer.
Celebrian returned to camp with a cart of water skins. She had discovered an offshoot of the Sirannon - a fortuitous find, she deemed. This near to winter, many streams had dwindled to a muddy trickle on the dry Eregion plateau. Water was scarce.
"We must prepare to leave."
Celebrian nodded and helped Elrond to rouse the others. The elves spoke little, reclaiming their water skins from Celebrian's cart, sharing their rations with those who had none. Celebrian returned to sit beside Elrond and offered him an apple.
Elrond accepted the fruit with thanks. "Where did you find this?"
"There is a tree near the water. I sent some of the older children to pick more - we will soon want for food, I think."
From the stream came a shout and a splash, followed by taunts and laughter. Elrond raised his eyebrows. "Your apple pickers?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the noise.
Celebrian smiled. "I suspect more play than apple-picking is at hand."
"It is good to hear them laugh. They have shed enough tears." Elrond looked around at the camp. There were many children here. His eyes narrowed. Too many. Elves did not breed in times of trouble. 'They did not know what was coming,' he realized, shocked. That Sauron would descend upon Eregion had been assumed in Forlond, once Celebrimbor revealed the whole sordid truth. Elrond had believed the smith would warn his people. Obviously, he had overestimated Celebrimbor's repentance and guilt. [8]
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Do you think that we have eluded their trackers?" Celebrian asked. They had traveled through night and day before making camp again in the evening.
Elrond retrieved a pouch of dried fruit from his pack. Offering the pouch to Celebrian, he sat with her on the barren ground. To the east, the Ridge of Hollin rose tall against the sky. It marked the boundary between the Eregion plateau and the green valleys to the north. They would need be less sparing with water, but the march would grow more difficult as they left the flat lands behind.
"No. I believe the ruse your parents planned has been successful, and Sauron was carried away from our trail. He will send an army in our wake, but he and the main body of his forces will turn toward Lindon, if your mother has reached Hadhodrond safely." He did not explain further the significance of Galadriel's movements. Either Celebrian knew of Nenya and would understand, or she did not know, and he could not explain without revealing the full truth; in observance of his King's orders, he could not speak of what Celebrian surely had a right to know.
Elrond ground his teeth. Once again, he found his loyalties divided between the two elves. In frustration, he lashed out, knowing even as he spoke that the fault properly lay with Gil-galad, not Celebrian. "You should not have left as you did."
Celebrian dipped her head. She knew this was true. "I should not have done as I did - I should not have permitted matters to go so far. Yet, he would have suffered in any case, Elrond - if I refused his hand, would his pain be any less?"
The Peredhel refused to meet her eyes. "He was condemned from the moment you came to Minas Silivren," he said. 'As was I,' he added in thought. "You would not know him now. He is bitter, distant. He hardly sees Círdan. He surrounds himself with men - they die, yes, but they cannot see what is within the heart as an elf can. They do not see the coldness that lingers where once he had feeling."
"Elrond!" Celebrian was aghast as his words. "Would you have me bind myself without love, against the will of my fëa?"
"No." Elrond was silent.
"I should not have dallied with him, knowing almost from the start that I could never love him. Still, I was hardly more than a child, guided by desires of the hroa and deaf to the warning in my heart. Do not tell me you never fell prey to the inadequacies of youth."
"No, I did not. Neither did our King. We did not have that luxury, when a moment of youthful indiscretion might bring death to us and to all those around us."
Galadriel's daughter looked at him searchingly, her eyes softening to pity, as if she understood what lay beneath his bitterness. "It is late, and I did not rest yesterday." She rose and took her leave of him. 'Some matters cannot be set to right, whatever regrets we may nurse for the past,' she added silently.
Her thought drifted into his mind as she walked away. Elrond was glad enough to be left alone; he was not fit company this night. Chagrin, confusion and resentment warred within as he stared into the empty darkness that closed behind her as she retreated.
Valar, he still loved her.
As day broke on their march, they saw that a frost had come and snow glinted from the peaks of Hithaeglir. Their breath puffed in the chill air, though the cloudless sky promised afternoon warmth.
Celebrian found him as he left his captains, their scouts and positions decided for the day. He met her apprehensively, recalling the terms on which they had parted yestereve. The elf-maid offered a half-smile, uncertain as to his mood, yet reassuring him that she would not hold his words as a barrier between them.
"Where are you leading us?" Celebrian asked. "We cannot go much further north. Winter comes suddenly, here in the foothills - a warm day may bring deep snow in the night."
Elrond grimaced. Snow would impede orcs more than elves, but would find them without shelter. Older elves might long tolerate such exposure, but he worried for the little ones. "I admit I do not know this region well."
"If I recall the maps of the Dwarves rightly, we should soon meet the Bruinen. It will still be low, so long as snow does not melt in the mountains." She looked up at snow-capped Caradhras. "But once it does, the river runs fast and is difficult to cross - nearly impossible in spring. We would do well to put it between us and Sauron's forces."
Elrond nodded, impressed at this strategy. No creature of Morgoth liked water. "Have you traveled much in the foothills?"
She smiled as memory overtook her. "When things started to go ill in Eregion, and Annatar - Sauron's influence increased, Adar sought escape from the troubles in Ost-in-Edhil. Often, I went with him into the wild, to hunt and fish, though we did not come this far north." Her face clouded. She knew nothing of the fate of the warriors who had gone east, and worried for her parents.
Elrond put a hand on her shoulder, as much to comfort her as to atone for his unfortunate words of the previous evening.
Footsteps deliberately sounded in warning and they drew apart.
Galdor came out of the morning shadows. "Are we ready to move?"
"I believe we are."
A light snowfall came as they approached the Bruinen, followed by a warm spell typical of the foothills. The river would rise swiftly in the coming days, but an elf might still attempt a crossing.
Galdor, of mixed Telerin and Noldorin descent, had braved the Helcaraxë, survived the fall of Gondolin and now captained a ship that fished in the cold northern waters of Belegaer. He cheerfully volunteered to swim the icy river, carrying a rope that would serve as bridge to others. Soon they had a dozen such bridges in service, but the crossing progressed too slowly, and Elrond thought he could feel and hear the tromp of their pursuers.
"You do not imagine it," Celebrian said, tilting her head toward the south. "But look at the river. It is rising."
This was true. Through the long afternoon, the waters had risen, rapids forming where uprising rocks restrained the current. "But will it be enough to protect us?"
"If Ulmo still protects the waters of his creation, and the Lord Shipwright says that he does, then it will take great effort for Sauron's filth to cross this river," Galdor reassured him.
The river would give them some time, Elrond hoped - enough time, perhaps, to find a location his troops could defend, a location that would offer some protection against the elements. The orcs were coming and winter threatened. 'A Elbereth Gilthoniel! Ven avo awartho ned lum dhurwain!' he prayed. [9]
Imladris, 1701 Second Age
"The banners of the King!" Galdor pointed eastward to the crest of a hill overlooking the battlefield.
Elrond peered across the muddy flats. The morning sun glinted off the shield of Gil-galad, radiant as the stars from which he drew his epessë.
"Now I understand," he said. The orcs besieging them had not retreated with the sun, but continued to fight. They withered in the glare of Anor and took heavy losses.
Eagles circling protectively over Imladris had told Gil-galad that he neared Elrond's position, and he did not rest his troops with the dawn. He pushed forward, pinning the orcs between the western army's advance and the forces defending the valley.
Elrond met his old friend as the day waned. Stripping off their tunics, they submerged their dirt-encrusted, battle-worn bodies in a hot spring deep in the valley.
"Ai, you cannot know how good it is to have a proper bath after so many days of marching." The elf ducked under the water to wet his hair. Reemerging, he continued, "This is a wondrous place you have found."
In their isolation, the elves at Imladris had heard few tidings of the war in the west, though they had some inkling that the tide had turned: the orcs holding siege had lost half their number to forces recalled by Sauron.
"There are still some pockets of invasion - men who fought chiefly for reasons of their own, not at Sauron's bidding, and orcs who do not yet know their Dark Lord has abandoned them and fled eastward," Gil-galad explained.
"Then Sauron is not defeated?"
"No," the High King said grimly. "He is not defeated."
This subject, Elrond decided, and others, he would let lie. Gil-galad's hatred of the Maia arose from wounds of the Elder Days that had never closed. He could not but wonder if vengeance clouded the elf's judgment. Tonight, they spoke as friends; tomorrow, Elrond as advisor must put such questions before Gil-galad as King.
There was still one matter of which he knew he must speak, as a friend. "Celebrian is here at Imladris."
"You may tell her that I have had word from Durin - her parents passed safely through Hadhodrond and are now in Lórinand," the elf said, his features inscrutable.
"She will be glad to hear these tidings."
Gil-galad glanced at the Peredhel sharply, and Elrond feared his words had given away too much of his own sentiment. "Durin's folk will accompany her if she wishes to join her family."
'Perhaps it would be best to face her. These old resentments do you no good, mellon. You defy Sauron - surely an elf-maid cannot not intimidate you," Elrond said silently. Gil-galad's mind had closed to him, however.
The Peredhel greeted the next day with dread. What he had postponed the previous night he must now address. This task he had taken upon himself reluctantly but necessarily - if he did not speak frankly to the High King, who else would do so? Círdan alone shared with Elrond the trust and respect of Gil-galad, but Círdan was not at hand.
He found Gil-galad in his tent, studying a map of Eriador. Markings dotted the lands - locations of the remnants of Sauron's armies, Elrond supposed.
"I wish to move toward Bree in six days' time," Gil-galad said, without looking up. "I intend to leave Galdor here - it would be good to keep an outpost in the east, I think, and I need you in Forlond." [10]
How to explain to his friend his vision of Imladris? He had spent most of the Second Age at Minas Silivren. He was not ungrateful. Gil-galad's friendship had been a boon to him when he felt as a fish out of water, bereft of the only real parent he had known and no longer linked to his twin. Of life before the sack of Arvernien, he had only vague memories: an absent father and a mother preoccupied by a cursed jewel. He wanted something else for himself: a home.
"By your leave, I would remain here myself."
The High King frowned. "That is not my wish, but I will not order you back to Forlond." His tone left little doubt that he took Elrond's request as a personal affront. "How many are here at Imladris?"
"We had little success in Ost-in-Edhil. We arrived too late and with too few troops to challenge Sauron's forces. Perhaps a quarter of the elves of Eregion survived." [11]
"All of Eriador suffered. The settlements of men will not recover," Gil-galad answered, his eyes sweeping over the parchment before him. The war had redrawn the map of Eriador; whole towns now lay in ghostly ruin.
"These were not men, but elves - Noldor, under the protection of the High King."
"Noldor who betrayed us, who heard Sauron speak against us and delivered us into his hand."
He said nothing of the erstwhile folk of Fëanor, but Elrond heard his bitterness. Gil-galad, in his younger, less cynical days, had tried to make peace among the houses, burying his own resentments. That effort, Elrond saw, must now seem naïve, as trust misplaced.
"Not all were of like mind. You know quite well that Sauron's greatest weapon is not orcs but dissent sown amongst the peoples of Ennor. The elves of Eregion opened their ears to him, but you, too, fell into his trap - you allowed such dissent to divide us. Many lives were lost because Forlond was indifferent to their plight." He winced at his harsh words, yet knew they must be said, even at his own peril. They were not done with Sauron, and could ill afford to repeat such mistakes.
"That is why I sent you." The High King continued to study the map, seemingly preoccupied and only half-attentive to Elrond.
"You hardly sent me with a fraction of the troops available to you. We sent messengers twice for reinforcements that never came. Did my messengers fail to reach Forlond?"
"They did not."
"Then tell me why you ignored their plea. We needed help, Tauren." Gil-galad's ears did not so much as twitch at Elrond's peculiar use of his title - again, a formality rarely observed between the two friends.
"I could not leave the Havens unprotected."
"The Havens were not under attack! How many did we lose in Eregion for lack of sufficient troops?"
"I could not leave the Havens unprotected," Gil-galad repeated, at last meeting the eyes of the Peredhel. "If Sauron had taken Mithlond, all would have been lost. I had to make a choice."
Elrond took a deep breath. Valar help him, he saw the wisdom in the High King's strategy. Gil-galad had sacrificed Eregion for the long-term. Had Mithlond fallen, the thousands of elves in Lindon would have had no escape. Had Mithlond fallen, they would have had no hope of Númenor's help on the western front.
Could the elf Elrond had known early in the Second Age have made this choice?
Doggedly, he moved on to another matter of contention. "What have you told Tar Minastir of the Rings?"
"Nothing. I could not count on his help if he knew we unwittingly aided Sauron."
"Do you think that wise? For you risk Númenor's distrust should they learn you have not dealt openly with them."
"Men have not the memory of elves. The Elder Days are but a fable to them now, and their short lives cannot sustain grudges of great length. This war will pass into history, and then into legend, and our deception will be forgotten."
Elrond shook his head. For all Gil-galad had done to make Númenor an ally, his own guarded heart hid from him the hearts of the Abonnen. Men could indeed retain grudges over many years; their very willingness to go to war against Sauron proved this. The slights of Morgoth remained in the consciousness of the Edain, and so Tar Minastir had recognized in Morgoth's lieutenant an enemy of Númenor. Elrond guessed that the king would take a dim view of the elves' part in Sauron's resurgence.
"At least they should be warned of the Nine. Sauron will certainly seek to corrupt Númenóreans to his control." Sauron would take special pleasure in this - the Maiar, too, did not forget injuries of the past, and Sauron's defeat at the hand of Lúthien made him forever the enemy of her descendants.
"How can I do so, save by revealing the whole of the tale? It is too late. The rings must remain a secret to those who already know. It is perhaps fortunate that none of the Mírdain survived."
'Indeed, that is fortunate for you,' Elrond thought. "It is perhaps still more fortunate that only the Mírdain knew of the rings, and that Celebrimbor kept this secret even from the folk of Eregion, though it cost them bitterly when war came that they did not expect."
"This he did at my bidding. We needed Númenor."
Gil-galad met the Peredhel's stare unflinchingly. He had determined his course and would not now question its direction. Elrond saw reason in all that the King had done but such reason wanted compassion. Without the hesitation of conscience, the elf had proved bolder and more ruthless than Sauron anticipated. Thus had he forced the Dark Lord into retreat, but Elrond's heart warned him that the King's strategy would eventually bear ransom.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"There is much here to remind me of fair Ondolindë. Too much," Pengolodh said softly. Once a fortress besieged, Imladris grew daily to resemble more the home of which its Master had long dreamed.
Elrond anticipated the sage's next words with sadness.
"It is long past time for me to go West. If I needed evidence, it lies in the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil. We became proud, Elrond. Though the Lambengolmor had no part in the making of the Rings of Power, we suffered from the same illusion - that our art alone was reason. [12]
"It is a weakness in the Quendi, that we fall in love with our creations so easily, and forget what is true beauty. Guard against this. Do not make the mistake of Turgon - Imladris shall shine as the last beacon of light in times to come, but only while its Master values wisdom more than its walls.
Elrond listened carefully to his old teacher's words. His guiding vision, he hoped, might forestall the pride of which Pengolodh warned. He wished Imladris to be a home - not only to himself, but also to other peoples displaced by the misfortunes of life. He wished Imladris to be a home filled with the laughter of children, children who would have the security he had not had as a child. Yet one piece of his dream felt short: Imladris lacked its Lady.
This, he could remedy only in betrayal of his dearest friend.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien. Translations of Elvish (Sindarin, unless otherwise noted) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.
The King was at last moved to action. Taking up the ribbon and the note, he strode through the tower toward Celebrian's rooms. Elrond already guessed they would not find her, but still, he stared at the deserted rooms. In a single afternoon, the elf-maid had erased several decades of residence at the tower, leaving nothing but the scent of violets in her wake.
"Perhaps…she cannot have left the city. She will have to engage a ship, she could not have done that in an afternoon." His duplicity was now complete, Elrond realized miserably.
"And what should I do, if she is still in Forlond?" Gil-galad's harsh laugh jolted him. "Have her dragged back to the palace by my guards?" He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. "No. She is gone," he breathed, as if considering the implications of this for the first time.
Dreams and plans, hopes for a family, had vanished with five simple words. "Leave me," he said tersely.
"Gil… ." The words died on his lips.
The King turned blue-grey eyes on his friend, their brightness dimmed by the heavy storm clouds of his memory - memory of the day he had learned of Nargothrond's fall, that his entire family had perished. The same sense of utter aloneness pervaded the elf. "Leave me!"
Elrond complied, his guilty feet only too eager to flee from these first drops of rain, their warning hardly worthy of the tempest to come. He retired to his rooms, but he could find no solace in the books that usually brought comfort to him. Specters of guilt swarmed around him, their hollow eyes accusing, their bony fingers pointing with condemnation.
A servant came to the door, plainly uneasy with the mood he sensed in his King. "You are wanted in the King's library, Herdir Elrond," he announced. [1]
Gil-galad sat with his chin resting on his steepled fingers. He did not even acknowledge Elrond's presence, so wrapped was he in his thoughts.
'Thoughts of what?' Elrond wondered. Grief? Cold fury? He had always had a sense of his friend's heart, but now, he felt as if he stood before a stranger.
At last, without looking up, Gil-galad gave him leave to sit down. By course of habit, Elrond would have already taken a chair. He did not stand on formality with his friend. He was not so sure, however, that the elf who sat brooding before him was his friend, and it disturbed him that Gil-galad did not think his invitation strange. The very stillness of the King disturbed him; Gil-galad was predictable in his reaction to adversity. He paced. Movement seemed to help him to sort through the tumble in his mind, and he did his best thinking on foot.
His eyes were still stormy, but distant, and he spoke as if from far away. "It was Galadriel. She must have interfered somehow, must have said something to turn away her daughter's heart."
Elrond felt as if a stone had dropped into his stomach. 'No, mellonen, you need look no further than before you to see the wolf in your midst,' he chastised himself silently. Aloud, he spoke in defense of Galadriel. "She would not meddle in her daughter's life to such an extent. And Celebrian is not one to be easily cowed by her mother." [2]
He might have found the wall more attentive to his words. Gil-galad had already turned his mind to the treachery of his kin. He gave his trust with a jaded eye, allowing few into his confidence. He had seen how trust had robbed him of his beloved kinsman Finrod, of his family. Trust had made him a King too young. This maid had found her way into his heart, his trust, and he suffered now for his lack of watchfulness.
It would not happen again.
Eregion, 1697 Second Age
"Elrond, there are many who can go no further without rest. The children, the wounded - either we stop or we leave them behind."
Elrond turned to face the speaker, recognizing a voice he had not heard in many ennin. Though she wore not a gown but leggings and tunic, and had woven her beautiful hair into a practical braid, Celebrian had only grown more lovely since leaving Forlond and her jilted suitor. [3]
She might have told him she had changed in mind as well as body. She was no longer the elf-maid of the past. She joined Elrond as his equal, as a leader among the refugees. [4]
"Someone must look after them," she had explained to her father when they parted ways. Her parents and all who could wield a sword proposed to draw Sauron's forces from the ruined city toward Hadhodrond; Galadriel counted on help from Durin's folk. They hoped this ruse would allow Elrond to escape with the rest of the survivors. [5]
Elrond's party had traveled almost without pause since the previous morning and thus far, they had seen no sign of pursuit. Elrond could not take comfort in this. "We must not tarry long," he said reluctantly, giving the signal to halt.
Elros rushed into the camp of Maedhros and Maglor. In his excitement, he failed to signal ahead and the elves standing watch only recognized the Peredhel at the last moment. Oblivious to his near miss, he tore through the camp in search of his brother.
"There are men by the Gelion - Hadorians. They go north to the war. Come, Elrond, let us join them." Elros' eyes shone, his head filled with the romantic stories Maedhros told of the first wars of Beleriand.
Elrond frowned. He could handle a sword, of course, and had sent a few of Morgoth's creatures to whatever end awaited them. Yet, he had seen also the gore behind the romance, had treated the wounds won in battle.
"Perhaps we should consider this more carefully, muindor." [6]
"They move north in the morning. Besides, it is our duty. Our forefathers were princes among men - how can we stand by and let our people fight while we hide in the wilderness?"
Elros always had felt more kinship to their mortal side, but Elrond could not dispute that they had a duty - were these not the people of their grandfather Tuor? In the end, Elrond could not let his brother go off without him, and so they had gone to war.
His brother's death had shocked him. Having chosen to join the kindred of elves, he henceforth found time less precious. At the age of five hundred, he remained a young elf, yet his brother had become a very old man. He had already said his farewells to his brother, had already accepted his death. This he had done when Elros had made his decision. Their parting at Mithlond had been awkward; their respective choices had severed the bond of twinning, and his brother had become strange to him. Elrond preferred to remember his brother as he had been before Eönwë told them of the Valar's decree - as he had been in his dream: impetuous, fiery, full of the spark of youth. By attrition, they had both become captains during the war, but Elros reveled in the endless discussions of strategy; Elros had the charisma to lead and the enthusiasm to love it. The brother who had left Mithlond for Númenor had been every inch a king, a man of great stature, but he was no longer the twin Elrond had once known. [7]
The midday sun hid somewhere in the clouds and the weather was cool. Elves slept in the open, wrapped in their cloaks. He stood and stretched. With the gloomy weather, Sauron's forces would be on the move. Every minute they rested brought the enemy closer.
Celebrian returned to camp with a cart of water skins. She had discovered an offshoot of the Sirannon - a fortuitous find, she deemed. This near to winter, many streams had dwindled to a muddy trickle on the dry Eregion plateau. Water was scarce.
"We must prepare to leave."
Celebrian nodded and helped Elrond to rouse the others. The elves spoke little, reclaiming their water skins from Celebrian's cart, sharing their rations with those who had none. Celebrian returned to sit beside Elrond and offered him an apple.
Elrond accepted the fruit with thanks. "Where did you find this?"
"There is a tree near the water. I sent some of the older children to pick more - we will soon want for food, I think."
From the stream came a shout and a splash, followed by taunts and laughter. Elrond raised his eyebrows. "Your apple pickers?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the noise.
Celebrian smiled. "I suspect more play than apple-picking is at hand."
"It is good to hear them laugh. They have shed enough tears." Elrond looked around at the camp. There were many children here. His eyes narrowed. Too many. Elves did not breed in times of trouble. 'They did not know what was coming,' he realized, shocked. That Sauron would descend upon Eregion had been assumed in Forlond, once Celebrimbor revealed the whole sordid truth. Elrond had believed the smith would warn his people. Obviously, he had overestimated Celebrimbor's repentance and guilt. [8]
Elrond retrieved a pouch of dried fruit from his pack. Offering the pouch to Celebrian, he sat with her on the barren ground. To the east, the Ridge of Hollin rose tall against the sky. It marked the boundary between the Eregion plateau and the green valleys to the north. They would need be less sparing with water, but the march would grow more difficult as they left the flat lands behind.
"No. I believe the ruse your parents planned has been successful, and Sauron was carried away from our trail. He will send an army in our wake, but he and the main body of his forces will turn toward Lindon, if your mother has reached Hadhodrond safely." He did not explain further the significance of Galadriel's movements. Either Celebrian knew of Nenya and would understand, or she did not know, and he could not explain without revealing the full truth; in observance of his King's orders, he could not speak of what Celebrian surely had a right to know.
Elrond ground his teeth. Once again, he found his loyalties divided between the two elves. In frustration, he lashed out, knowing even as he spoke that the fault properly lay with Gil-galad, not Celebrian. "You should not have left as you did."
Celebrian dipped her head. She knew this was true. "I should not have done as I did - I should not have permitted matters to go so far. Yet, he would have suffered in any case, Elrond - if I refused his hand, would his pain be any less?"
The Peredhel refused to meet her eyes. "He was condemned from the moment you came to Minas Silivren," he said. 'As was I,' he added in thought. "You would not know him now. He is bitter, distant. He hardly sees Círdan. He surrounds himself with men - they die, yes, but they cannot see what is within the heart as an elf can. They do not see the coldness that lingers where once he had feeling."
"Elrond!" Celebrian was aghast as his words. "Would you have me bind myself without love, against the will of my fëa?"
"No." Elrond was silent.
"I should not have dallied with him, knowing almost from the start that I could never love him. Still, I was hardly more than a child, guided by desires of the hroa and deaf to the warning in my heart. Do not tell me you never fell prey to the inadequacies of youth."
"No, I did not. Neither did our King. We did not have that luxury, when a moment of youthful indiscretion might bring death to us and to all those around us."
Galadriel's daughter looked at him searchingly, her eyes softening to pity, as if she understood what lay beneath his bitterness. "It is late, and I did not rest yesterday." She rose and took her leave of him. 'Some matters cannot be set to right, whatever regrets we may nurse for the past,' she added silently.
Her thought drifted into his mind as she walked away. Elrond was glad enough to be left alone; he was not fit company this night. Chagrin, confusion and resentment warred within as he stared into the empty darkness that closed behind her as she retreated.
Valar, he still loved her.
As day broke on their march, they saw that a frost had come and snow glinted from the peaks of Hithaeglir. Their breath puffed in the chill air, though the cloudless sky promised afternoon warmth.
Celebrian found him as he left his captains, their scouts and positions decided for the day. He met her apprehensively, recalling the terms on which they had parted yestereve. The elf-maid offered a half-smile, uncertain as to his mood, yet reassuring him that she would not hold his words as a barrier between them.
"Where are you leading us?" Celebrian asked. "We cannot go much further north. Winter comes suddenly, here in the foothills - a warm day may bring deep snow in the night."
Elrond grimaced. Snow would impede orcs more than elves, but would find them without shelter. Older elves might long tolerate such exposure, but he worried for the little ones. "I admit I do not know this region well."
"If I recall the maps of the Dwarves rightly, we should soon meet the Bruinen. It will still be low, so long as snow does not melt in the mountains." She looked up at snow-capped Caradhras. "But once it does, the river runs fast and is difficult to cross - nearly impossible in spring. We would do well to put it between us and Sauron's forces."
Elrond nodded, impressed at this strategy. No creature of Morgoth liked water. "Have you traveled much in the foothills?"
She smiled as memory overtook her. "When things started to go ill in Eregion, and Annatar - Sauron's influence increased, Adar sought escape from the troubles in Ost-in-Edhil. Often, I went with him into the wild, to hunt and fish, though we did not come this far north." Her face clouded. She knew nothing of the fate of the warriors who had gone east, and worried for her parents.
Elrond put a hand on her shoulder, as much to comfort her as to atone for his unfortunate words of the previous evening.
Footsteps deliberately sounded in warning and they drew apart.
Galdor came out of the morning shadows. "Are we ready to move?"
"I believe we are."
A light snowfall came as they approached the Bruinen, followed by a warm spell typical of the foothills. The river would rise swiftly in the coming days, but an elf might still attempt a crossing.
Galdor, of mixed Telerin and Noldorin descent, had braved the Helcaraxë, survived the fall of Gondolin and now captained a ship that fished in the cold northern waters of Belegaer. He cheerfully volunteered to swim the icy river, carrying a rope that would serve as bridge to others. Soon they had a dozen such bridges in service, but the crossing progressed too slowly, and Elrond thought he could feel and hear the tromp of their pursuers.
"You do not imagine it," Celebrian said, tilting her head toward the south. "But look at the river. It is rising."
This was true. Through the long afternoon, the waters had risen, rapids forming where uprising rocks restrained the current. "But will it be enough to protect us?"
"If Ulmo still protects the waters of his creation, and the Lord Shipwright says that he does, then it will take great effort for Sauron's filth to cross this river," Galdor reassured him.
The river would give them some time, Elrond hoped - enough time, perhaps, to find a location his troops could defend, a location that would offer some protection against the elements. The orcs were coming and winter threatened. 'A Elbereth Gilthoniel! Ven avo awartho ned lum dhurwain!' he prayed. [9]
Imladris, 1701 Second Age
"The banners of the King!" Galdor pointed eastward to the crest of a hill overlooking the battlefield.
Elrond peered across the muddy flats. The morning sun glinted off the shield of Gil-galad, radiant as the stars from which he drew his epessë.
"Now I understand," he said. The orcs besieging them had not retreated with the sun, but continued to fight. They withered in the glare of Anor and took heavy losses.
Eagles circling protectively over Imladris had told Gil-galad that he neared Elrond's position, and he did not rest his troops with the dawn. He pushed forward, pinning the orcs between the western army's advance and the forces defending the valley.
Elrond met his old friend as the day waned. Stripping off their tunics, they submerged their dirt-encrusted, battle-worn bodies in a hot spring deep in the valley.
"Ai, you cannot know how good it is to have a proper bath after so many days of marching." The elf ducked under the water to wet his hair. Reemerging, he continued, "This is a wondrous place you have found."
In their isolation, the elves at Imladris had heard few tidings of the war in the west, though they had some inkling that the tide had turned: the orcs holding siege had lost half their number to forces recalled by Sauron.
"There are still some pockets of invasion - men who fought chiefly for reasons of their own, not at Sauron's bidding, and orcs who do not yet know their Dark Lord has abandoned them and fled eastward," Gil-galad explained.
"Then Sauron is not defeated?"
"No," the High King said grimly. "He is not defeated."
This subject, Elrond decided, and others, he would let lie. Gil-galad's hatred of the Maia arose from wounds of the Elder Days that had never closed. He could not but wonder if vengeance clouded the elf's judgment. Tonight, they spoke as friends; tomorrow, Elrond as advisor must put such questions before Gil-galad as King.
There was still one matter of which he knew he must speak, as a friend. "Celebrian is here at Imladris."
"You may tell her that I have had word from Durin - her parents passed safely through Hadhodrond and are now in Lórinand," the elf said, his features inscrutable.
"She will be glad to hear these tidings."
Gil-galad glanced at the Peredhel sharply, and Elrond feared his words had given away too much of his own sentiment. "Durin's folk will accompany her if she wishes to join her family."
'Perhaps it would be best to face her. These old resentments do you no good, mellon. You defy Sauron - surely an elf-maid cannot not intimidate you," Elrond said silently. Gil-galad's mind had closed to him, however.
The Peredhel greeted the next day with dread. What he had postponed the previous night he must now address. This task he had taken upon himself reluctantly but necessarily - if he did not speak frankly to the High King, who else would do so? Círdan alone shared with Elrond the trust and respect of Gil-galad, but Círdan was not at hand.
He found Gil-galad in his tent, studying a map of Eriador. Markings dotted the lands - locations of the remnants of Sauron's armies, Elrond supposed.
"I wish to move toward Bree in six days' time," Gil-galad said, without looking up. "I intend to leave Galdor here - it would be good to keep an outpost in the east, I think, and I need you in Forlond." [10]
How to explain to his friend his vision of Imladris? He had spent most of the Second Age at Minas Silivren. He was not ungrateful. Gil-galad's friendship had been a boon to him when he felt as a fish out of water, bereft of the only real parent he had known and no longer linked to his twin. Of life before the sack of Arvernien, he had only vague memories: an absent father and a mother preoccupied by a cursed jewel. He wanted something else for himself: a home.
"By your leave, I would remain here myself."
The High King frowned. "That is not my wish, but I will not order you back to Forlond." His tone left little doubt that he took Elrond's request as a personal affront. "How many are here at Imladris?"
"We had little success in Ost-in-Edhil. We arrived too late and with too few troops to challenge Sauron's forces. Perhaps a quarter of the elves of Eregion survived." [11]
"All of Eriador suffered. The settlements of men will not recover," Gil-galad answered, his eyes sweeping over the parchment before him. The war had redrawn the map of Eriador; whole towns now lay in ghostly ruin.
"These were not men, but elves - Noldor, under the protection of the High King."
"Noldor who betrayed us, who heard Sauron speak against us and delivered us into his hand."
He said nothing of the erstwhile folk of Fëanor, but Elrond heard his bitterness. Gil-galad, in his younger, less cynical days, had tried to make peace among the houses, burying his own resentments. That effort, Elrond saw, must now seem naïve, as trust misplaced.
"Not all were of like mind. You know quite well that Sauron's greatest weapon is not orcs but dissent sown amongst the peoples of Ennor. The elves of Eregion opened their ears to him, but you, too, fell into his trap - you allowed such dissent to divide us. Many lives were lost because Forlond was indifferent to their plight." He winced at his harsh words, yet knew they must be said, even at his own peril. They were not done with Sauron, and could ill afford to repeat such mistakes.
"That is why I sent you." The High King continued to study the map, seemingly preoccupied and only half-attentive to Elrond.
"You hardly sent me with a fraction of the troops available to you. We sent messengers twice for reinforcements that never came. Did my messengers fail to reach Forlond?"
"They did not."
"Then tell me why you ignored their plea. We needed help, Tauren." Gil-galad's ears did not so much as twitch at Elrond's peculiar use of his title - again, a formality rarely observed between the two friends.
"I could not leave the Havens unprotected."
"The Havens were not under attack! How many did we lose in Eregion for lack of sufficient troops?"
"I could not leave the Havens unprotected," Gil-galad repeated, at last meeting the eyes of the Peredhel. "If Sauron had taken Mithlond, all would have been lost. I had to make a choice."
Elrond took a deep breath. Valar help him, he saw the wisdom in the High King's strategy. Gil-galad had sacrificed Eregion for the long-term. Had Mithlond fallen, the thousands of elves in Lindon would have had no escape. Had Mithlond fallen, they would have had no hope of Númenor's help on the western front.
Could the elf Elrond had known early in the Second Age have made this choice?
Doggedly, he moved on to another matter of contention. "What have you told Tar Minastir of the Rings?"
"Nothing. I could not count on his help if he knew we unwittingly aided Sauron."
"Do you think that wise? For you risk Númenor's distrust should they learn you have not dealt openly with them."
"Men have not the memory of elves. The Elder Days are but a fable to them now, and their short lives cannot sustain grudges of great length. This war will pass into history, and then into legend, and our deception will be forgotten."
Elrond shook his head. For all Gil-galad had done to make Númenor an ally, his own guarded heart hid from him the hearts of the Abonnen. Men could indeed retain grudges over many years; their very willingness to go to war against Sauron proved this. The slights of Morgoth remained in the consciousness of the Edain, and so Tar Minastir had recognized in Morgoth's lieutenant an enemy of Númenor. Elrond guessed that the king would take a dim view of the elves' part in Sauron's resurgence.
"At least they should be warned of the Nine. Sauron will certainly seek to corrupt Númenóreans to his control." Sauron would take special pleasure in this - the Maiar, too, did not forget injuries of the past, and Sauron's defeat at the hand of Lúthien made him forever the enemy of her descendants.
"How can I do so, save by revealing the whole of the tale? It is too late. The rings must remain a secret to those who already know. It is perhaps fortunate that none of the Mírdain survived."
'Indeed, that is fortunate for you,' Elrond thought. "It is perhaps still more fortunate that only the Mírdain knew of the rings, and that Celebrimbor kept this secret even from the folk of Eregion, though it cost them bitterly when war came that they did not expect."
"This he did at my bidding. We needed Númenor."
Gil-galad met the Peredhel's stare unflinchingly. He had determined his course and would not now question its direction. Elrond saw reason in all that the King had done but such reason wanted compassion. Without the hesitation of conscience, the elf had proved bolder and more ruthless than Sauron anticipated. Thus had he forced the Dark Lord into retreat, but Elrond's heart warned him that the King's strategy would eventually bear ransom.
Elrond anticipated the sage's next words with sadness.
"It is long past time for me to go West. If I needed evidence, it lies in the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil. We became proud, Elrond. Though the Lambengolmor had no part in the making of the Rings of Power, we suffered from the same illusion - that our art alone was reason. [12]
"It is a weakness in the Quendi, that we fall in love with our creations so easily, and forget what is true beauty. Guard against this. Do not make the mistake of Turgon - Imladris shall shine as the last beacon of light in times to come, but only while its Master values wisdom more than its walls.
Elrond listened carefully to his old teacher's words. His guiding vision, he hoped, might forestall the pride of which Pengolodh warned. He wished Imladris to be a home - not only to himself, but also to other peoples displaced by the misfortunes of life. He wished Imladris to be a home filled with the laughter of children, children who would have the security he had not had as a child. Yet one piece of his dream felt short: Imladris lacked its Lady.
This, he could remedy only in betrayal of his dearest friend.
- [1] Herdir
- Master
- [2] mellonen
- my friend (mellon + -en, first person possessive suffix)
- [3] ennin
- Valian years
- [4] 'She joined Elrond as his equal, as a leader among the refugees.'
- This is entirely invented for the purposes of this story - there is nothing to support it.
- [5] 'Her parents and all who could wield a sword proposed to draw Sauron's forces from the ruined city toward Hadhodrond; Galadriel counted on help from Durin's folk.'
- This is one account of the movements of Galadriel and Celeborn. (ref. Unfinished Tales, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn' p 256 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)
- [6] muindor
- brother
- [7] 'their respective choices had severed the bond of twinning'
- That the two were twins is noted in several places, and I don't believe anything exists to refute this. (ref. The War of the Jewels, 'The Tale of Years' p 348 pub. Houghton Mifflin)
- [8] 'Elrond had believed the smith would warn his people.'
- This is speculation, but I should think that if the people of Eregion knew that Annatar was The Maia Formerly Known As Sauron and would soon be coming for the rings, they would have fled to Lindon in short order.
- [9] 'A Elbereth Gilthoniel! Ven avo awartho ned lum dhurwain!'
- 'Oh, Elbereth Gilthoniel! Do not abandon us in our darkest hour!' (Lit. 'Us do not abandon in time our darkest.') Men is lenited to ven as a direct object. Lum is formed from lû + -m, first person plural possessive suffix. Dhurwain is the lenited form of durwain, dûr + -wain, superlative suffix. In both cases, I've assumed that û would shorten to u with the addition of a suffix, as attested by guren from gûr.
- [10] "I intend to leave Galdor here - it would be good to keep an outpost in the east, I think, and I need you in Forlond."
- This was formally decided at the first White Council, according to Unfinished Tales, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn', but I see no reason that Gil-galad might not have considered it before that time.
- [11] 'We arrived too late and with too few troops to challenge Sauron's forces.'
- Again, this is speculation, but it does seem that it took a long time for help to arrive in Eregion after Sauron first attacked.
- [12] Lambengolmor
- Pengolodh was the leader of the Lambengolmor in Middle-Earth. The artsy atmosphere of Ost-in-Edhil would be a good fit for the loremasters, though I don't believe they are ever formally associated with Eregion. (ref. The War of the Jewels, 'Quendi and Eldar' p 396 pub. Houghton Mifflin)