A Lone Child

6 - Elrond

Elrond placed an affectionate kiss on Estel's forehead. It may have been a trick of light, but he thought he saw a little smile form on that young face. He shook his head, checked the child's blanket, and left the room that Estel shared with Gilraen.

He was striding down the corridor to his own chambers when he changed course, heading towards the garden instead. On the way, he encountered Lindir.

"My Lord," the minstrel greeted him with a bow.

"Lindir," Elrond acknowledged him. "It was a particularly beautiful recital tonight." The story had been too familiar, too close to the memories that had been following him that day, but with Estel in his arms the grief had given way to sorrow and an old truth.

"Thank you, my Lord," Lindir replied modestly. "Is the child that was with you the one called Estel, the son of the Dunadan Gilraen?"

Elrond nodded. "He is."

Lindir smiled, and shook his head. "His mother comes to the Hall often, but tonight was the first time I paid attention to the child." He hesitated. "If you do not mind me saying so, my Lord, there were moments tonight when it was almost as if we were at the youth of this Age, and you were cradling one of your sons." Elrond shot him an inquiring glance, and he quickly added, "I meant to say that he had a peculiar resemblance to you, my Lord."

Elrond slowly nodded. "He does, I suppose. It is a curious coincidence."

Sensing that the Half-Elf was troubled, Lindir bowed again and took his leave. Elrond resumed his walk to the garden, but his mind was already somewhere else, in a different place and time.

The scent of roses was less overwhelming in the cool night air. Elrond glanced at the stone table and bench where they had worked, remembered the old book with the handprints. As if summoned, the day they had been made flashed through his mind. It had, after all, been his idea.

Only the left handprint was his.

As always on nights when he was revisited by the past and took to the garden, a certain star blazed brightly in the night sky, as if it was trying to outshine all other stars. Out of the habit of several millenia, Elrond made a little nod of acknowledgement to his sire. For a long while he simply stared at the light of the distant Silmaril, his mind full of the sound of breaking waves and the cry of gulls.

Eventually he said, to the past, "After all this time, I still do not know how you could have made your choice, and be strong enough to hold me to mine. But I know now that you are right. You have always been right."

And then he was drowned by the salty sea, lost in the pain of a wound so old that it could never truly heal, because in a way there was never really a wound to begin with. He let himself go, and he wept.

~ The End ~