Chapter 50
Year 1976 of the Third Age
Elrond was pleased to see his sons enter Imladris without as much as a scratch on their bodies. The newly formed Dúnedain filtered in behind awestruck at Imladris' beauty. Elrond watched his daughter fly by to her brothers. He smiled at the happy reunion, before turning his attention to the obvious descendent of his brother. Elrond mentally went through the list of descendents before his mind lighted on the right one.
" Aranarth, to what to I owe this?"
Aranarth turned at his name, swinging his shoulder length silver threaded dark locks back.
" I beg your pardon, good sir? We have never met."
Elrond extended his arm.
" I am Elrond, lord of Imladris."
Aranarth's eyes widened in surprise and then his eyes crinkled with a smile.
" Mae govannen."
Elrond chuckled.
" Why have my sons brought you to Imladris?"
The man's face shadowed.
" Matters of the Dúnedain, my lord."
Elrond observed his nephew (of some degree) silently.
" I pray it is good."
Aranarth shrugged.
" I believe it is what is best for my people and descendents."
Elrond ran his hands over the familiar heirlooms.
These were once yours, Elros. They endured, but you faded into the dust and sea.
Elrond sighed, staring out at the snowcapped mountains jutting high into the night sky. The night was full of happy singing and nonsense, yet he remained in his somber mood.
" What else can I lose? My parents, brother, King and wife have forsaken me? What next? One of my own children?"
Elrond turned his gray eyes up to the stars, as if seeking guidance; but the stars remained dull and no answers did they divulge.
1981
Elrond recognized the slanted cursive of Galadriel's hand. His heart leapt when he caught sight of Celebrían's familiar scrawl. He put it aside momentarily, knowing he needed to address whatever business Galadriel had sent him first.
Dearest Elrond,
I write this to you from both Celeborn and I in Lórien. I send you tidings of both sorrow and joy, both of which, I am full of. The somber news first of course: Amroth and Nimrodel have both disappeared. Nimrodel promised to wed Amroth only if he would take her over the Sea. Amroth went to secure a passage for them both in Belfalas. Nimrodel followed, but alas, she was lost. It is rumored that Amroth jumped into the Sea. Neither has been found.
In lieu of this, the Lórien Elves have appointed Celeborn and I to lead them. As according to the rules and policies laid down by Fingolfin, this letter notifies you of the change in leadership since you are the rightful heir. I foresee no trouble with this arrangement for we both understand the perils ahead.
On a more personal note, Celebrían asked that I send this letter with mine. Please read it and respond. She wears her wedding band again. Though I love her, I can sense the discord in your spirit. Imladris is beginning to fail. Do what you must to end this. I fear you will succumb to grief and fall before your wisdom is needed most. Let your heart read the letter and respond, not your mind.
GaladrielElrond's eyes slowly ran across his desk to the letter. He lifted it up to the light. With a heavy hand, he slowly opened the envelope, breaking the seal. He unfolded it and began to read.
Elrond-Greetings and well wishes from Lórien. I pray this has found you well.
Elrond shook his head.
Why do you not journey here and find out yourself instead of hoping and praying? Neither has done much for me over the years.
He turned back to the letter.
We parted on bad terms nearly a millennia ago.
Was it really that long? Has time flown that fast to make it seem like it was just yesterday?
The night I left, I took back my wedding band. Whispers had begun in Lórien of our fading relationship. I have no wish to diminish your reputation.
Elrond's spirits fell as he read on. He glared out at the swirling snow.
" She cares only for our image."
With an angry jerk, he tossed the letter into the fire. A second later, he braved the flames to snatch it back. He blew on it, extinguishing the flames and then staring at the charred paper. His hand stung, turning a blistered red. Elrond slumped in his chair and stared at the fire. His eyes slowly lifted to the mantle place.
Elrond stood mechanically, lifting his sword from its place. He blew off the dust, caressing the blade with a careful hand.
" Ah!"
He winced, pulling his left hand back. With an odd sense of curiosity, he watched the crimson blood pool in his hand. The twinge of pain was barely recognizable.
I remember how it felt when this was plunged deep. What it meant to die before something dreadful happened…
He stared at the sword, almost as if he had never seen it before. He sat back in his chair.
Could I do it again?
His mind flew to an old play he had read long ago.
To die: to sleep; No more; and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub.
Elrond's soft voice formed the last few lines.
" For in that sleep of death what dreams may come?"
His gray eyes turned to the gleaming sword in the dim firelight. It was just as tempting as it had been all those long years ago when Lindon was new. He glanced at the portrait nearby he had had painted of his family. His eyes fell on Arwen, then only a young child. He licked his lips in determination.
She deserves her mother, not me…
He began to turn the sword so that the tip faced him.
Erestor entered with a heavy sigh, knowing he would find the lord in his study. Erestor moved to assist Elrond to his room and spotted the blistered hand on Elrond's armrest.
" Precious Eru, Elrond!" Erestor exclaimed.
Elrond jumped up, swinging around. Erestor held up his hands, swallowing slowly as a sword blade tickled his neck.
" Tis only I, Elrond."
Elrond blinked, letting the sword droop in his hand. A light of recognition finally dawned.
" Erestor, why are you sneaking about?"
Erestor crossed his arms.
" I came to see if you were in bed yet or not. I have to baby sit you since you refuse to sleep." Erestor motioned to Elrond's right hand. " What happened?"
Elrond just shook his head.
" Tis a little thing that you will not concern yourself with."
Arwen entered, having heard Erestor's exclamation on her way from the Hall of Fire. She took the sword from her father's grasp.
" Ada, your hand." She gently took it by the wrist. " Let me put a salve on it and wrap it."
Elrond sighed.
" Fine. Do what you feel you must."
Arwen exchanged a glance with Erestor.
" Tis wrong to despair, Elrond." Erestor said.
Elrond looked at his advisor with a stare of pure hopelessness.
" It takes everything I am not to fail."
Arwen glanced at the letter and then her grandmother's letter. She let a tear trail down her face. It pained her to see her father so miserable.
" Come with me to Lórien, Ada."
Elrond looked down with an uncertain expression. Arwen tugged on his tunic.
" I do not want to go alone; and it might do you good to get away from Imladris."
Elrond shook his head slightly.
" Your mother is there."
Arwen let another tear trail down her face before burying her head into his tunic. Erestor watched Elrond's eyes turn worried. Elrond hugged Arwen close.
" If that is what you wish, Undómiel, then so be it."
Arwen kissed his cheek. She caressed it gently, smoothing off the rouge she wore on her lips from his skin.
" I do not want to lose you, Ada. I love you."
Elrond hugged her close. He closed his eyes, one tear seeping from behind his lids.
And I entertained thoughts of death… Where was my mind? I could never leave her.
Arwen gently pushed away the tear, watching it sparkle on the end of her finger. She had never seen her father cry.
" I will never leave you, Ada; but you cannot leave me either. I do not want to be alone."
Elrond held her tightly.
" I will never leave you, Undómiel. You will always be with me."
AN: Elrond's little quote from a play. "To die: to sleep; No more…For in that sleep of death what dreams may come?" That's from Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1, lines 59-65.
Also, as to the suicide attempt, yes, I know that this is most likely far-fetched; but I also believe that when Elves despaired, such as Elrond is, that their spirit began to leave them. If the fëa wishes to leave the body it is contained in, then by death it could.