Another fun bit written with my husband.
Elrohir
Wrapped in his own thoughts, Elrohir left the meeting. Probably the dreams and feelings of the Seers arose from the crisis in the south. He wanted to think about all that had occurred before he decided what to do. Wishing that Elladan were here, he started up the stairs. On the first landing, completely unprepared for the encounter, he came face-to-face with a lady unlike any other he had ever seen. There was silence and no movement as he looked for the first time into her eyes.
That she was using some artifice was obvious to him, for she was protecting herself against Men and not Elves. He could not understand why anyone would want to hide such loveliness. She was tall and beautiful beyond imagination. Some internal fire seemed to illuminate her from within, and a man might sacrifice much for those fine dark eyes.
At first, she looked pale and shocked, but that soon gave way to unguarded admiration. He was used to being admired; however, this was much more. She looked at him almost as a predator. He imagined that a cat looked at a mouse in such a way and it unnerved him.
Then, immense sorrow seemed to shroud her, which made her even more breathtaking. It evoked a powerful protective emotion in him and something more. Lost, she was, in darkness, in the mazes of the night, lost among beauty and evil and desire, lost and wasted in the dark places of the world, alone and unable to find her way. Seeking something that perhaps even she didn't realize. Was it too late for this bright angel, this lady who had lost her way? He did not know. Her vulnerability drew him, and he had no defense.
They stood there on the landing staring at each other. The lady, magnificent beyond comprehension, raised her hand and touched his face. He was overcome by the physical contact and would not let her take her hand away. Firmly, but with great gentleness, he grasped her wrist and pressed a kiss in the palm of her hand.
The first thing that Legrace thought when she recognized him was, What is the son of the Half-Elven doing here, now? Had she given herself away somehow stupidly and unknowingly? Then, she relaxed. It hardly mattered, for even the Masters of Imladris could not overrule the king here.
Calmly, she looked up into the deep grey eyes of the tall, exquisite Eldar Lord and knew that she was gazing upon the fairest creature that now dwelt upon Middle-earth. By the Flame, he was handsome! In her long life, she could recall little that had affected her this way. Forgetting darkness and grief, forgetting Eldarion the Fair, she devoured him with her eyes. Rarely before had she wanted anything as she wanted him.
She had been unprepared, that was certain. He could see her and might perceive what she was if he had the wisdom and experience to understand what his senses were telling him. Now, regarding the son of the Half-Elven with her own eyes and at point-blank range, Legrace was stricken. The creature before her was dangerous -- far more dangerous to her now than anything she had ever before faced. Fairer and more dangerous even than his identical brother, for despite the sameness of their looks and manners, no one else among the living could look at her -- look inside her -- and make her feel this way. Although she did not know what he saw, he must sense some part of her fearsome power, which, since using the palantir, had been churning up from deep wells long unused and forgotten within her and threatening to slip through fissures in her control. And yet, he made no effort to protect himself. Unable to stop herself, she reached to press her palm against his forehead.
The Elf Lord did not endeavor to resist; as a result, she could perceive his emotions and some of his intentions as if he were broadcasting them, and she was both pleased and disturbed. Before she could withdraw her hand, however, he had captured her wrist in his warm hand and kissed her... on the palm. She shivered and knew that she would need no enchantment against this one, for his feelings were genuine. Regretfully, she realized that she had to maintain her hold on the mortal king now; however, she promised herself that, eventually, this one would be hers, for she could keep him forever.
Long after the King had retired, Elrohir walked along the walls of the citadel, bundled in his fur-lined cloak against the bitterly cold night air. He was troubled in mind and in spirit.
All the events that were occurring, all the concerns that he had to deal with, and yet in the quiet darkness and solitude of night he could not keep her out of his mind. Once only had he met her, and although he had perceived her essence, he had not seen her true appearance. They had spoken together for a relatively short time, but it had been enough. He was glad to have admitted the truth to Ben, for the wily spymaster had promised to send an urgent message if any lady came to Minas Anor looking for Elrohir.. or Eldarion, he thought with a strange, numb feeling. He only wished that the dangers and questions that faced them were more important to himself than seeing her again.
Only sentries were stirring In Minas Anor, and dawn was still several hours off. Stopping and turning his face upwards to the heavenly light of the stars, Elrohir allowed himself to recall the words that had passed between them...
"Pardon my impertinence, my lady," he said to her. "But I long to know your true name. Will you not share it with me?"
Showing no surprise or concern, she gazed at him with an enigmatic little smile. "Not now, my pretty elf prince, but I shall when next we meet."
He felt slightly uncomfortable by her words, but being flattered by such a lady was not an unpleasant sensation. "I am no prince, my lady."
A lovely grin spread across her face. "You and I do not categorize things in the same way, you see."
Nodding and returning her grin, Elrohir wondered how she could remain so unconcerned when he knew she was not Lady Fala. Perhaps she recognized the feelings that she stirred in him. Why else had she put her hand upon his forehead? It was the only enchantment that she had used with him, he was certain.
"My lady," he began slowly, choosing his words with care. "Whatever this darkness is, this grief that threatens you, I will help you, if I can."
The sadness rose in her eyes, and he perceived her keen pain. "Perhaps. Now, however, I must leave. I can stay with Eldarion no longer."
"Then, stay with me," he said very softly, feeling enormously vulnerable.
For a moment, she smiled at him with a beautiful light in her eyes and Elrohir found that he could not breathe. He flattered himself that she considered it, for he lost track of time as he waited for her to reply. "I would like to, but I cannot now. It will be better this way for you as well, for I could drive a wedge between you and him that might never be removed."
It was something that he had thought of but had pushed to the back of his mind, so he knew that she was right. "Yes, I had thought of that. I ask one thing only of you: if we do meet again, assume some appearance that will make it impossible for anyone to recognize you."
"Of course, my pretty prince," she chuckled. "When next we meet, I shall not assume this false appearance. For you, there will be no deception of any kind. Not only shall you know my true name, you shall also see me as I truly am."
The stars were cold and far away, offering no comfort. Elrohir sighed deeply and turned for the long walk back to his quarters.
The first thing that Elrohir noticed with a shock and a flame of anger was the familiar way that Eldarion was touching Legrace. Almost beyond belief! The sight of her wet eyes and the fresh tears seeping from them flooded him with relief and then regret for his impulsive feelings towards his nephew, whom he knew to be a man of principle and honor. What kind of fool was he to suspect Eldarion of such a thing?
Again, though, the pendulum swung back as he saw her chafed skin and knew that she had recently been kissed... and neither of them made the slightest effort to hide it. Jealousy stabbed him deeply, and worse, despair. Bitterly, he cursed himself for stupidity and naïveté. As much as he knew about her, he should have realized that she would take whatever and whomever she wanted at any given time. Selfish, sad, suffering female, he hated himself for letting it matter so much.
When Eldarion took his leave, he kissed Legrace's hand and murmured something in her ear. His departure with Benoit left Elrohir alone with her, and he stood staring at her with a stark expression on his face. Of course, Eldarion would not have done such a thing unless enchanted.
Why now, though? She had held the King in the palm of her hand and had discarded him. By her own words, she no longer wanted Eldarion and did not want to come between the two men. There had been no deception, even as she had said it... It was his own bloody fault, he knew, for allowing himself to get so deeply involved. No promise had been made, and she had certainly broken no vow; nevertheless, he had let himself believe—what? That she would forsake other men? That the bond between them was something special? That because he was willing to give up his very self for her, she owed him some loyalty?
"So, you have changed your mind?" he remarked, low and controlled ash he folded his arms across his chest. "And you will go back to Eldarion."
A little smile flitted across her face. "No, indeed."
"Then, you merely toy with his affections as well?" Bitterness had crept into his voice. "And keep us both on leading strings? Or is he only a proxy until my brother comes close enough to ensnare?"
Her eyes regarded him warmly, and a real smile appeared on her face. "Jealousy suits you, my dear prince, but I do not know what has roused it."
Elrohir took a deep breath, trying to control his anger and hurt. "You neither hid what had passed between you tonight."
Slowly, she shook her head. "No. He cannot comfort me that way again, now I see." With tired motions, she reached both hands up to rub her eyes. "You would not understand."
"Every living creature in this world has suffered in some way," he muttered, coming to her. She looked up at him in a serious, frowning, questioning way. Exhausted and slightly faded, she was, her face wan and shadowed. "You ought to go to bed."
"Ought, perhaps." A little pause, and then she raised those irresistible eyes to him with an uncertain expression "Do not leave me alone. May I not sleep here?"
His fine black brows drew together as his gaze bored into hers.
"You are safe with me, I promise," she added with a little grin, but behind it was an aching and unbearable loneliness.
"The men will talk," he said briefly.
"They already talk," she countered. "Do you care?"
Of course, she would care nothing for men's gossip. He raked his fingers through his hair. "Very well, from now, you shall stay with me." He met her gaze again, and the unspoken between them was heavy and poignant.
.
Night was just falling as Alys and her escorts reached the first of the sentries. "Lady Alys, you are requested to go directly to the king," one of the men said once the small party had been positively identified. "And the Lady Legrace as well."
"She is not with us," she said to the sentries, then looked worriedly at Dacius and Leofric as they continued on into the camp. "I daresay that the king will be angry that we left her."
"That will be on my shoulders," said Dacius with a sigh. "For it certainly fell to my responsibility to see that both you ladies were escorted. But it is the Lord Elrohir whom I think will be most angry."
The thought made them all uneasy, for the Elf Lord was an intimidating presence even when he remained silently in the background. Soon enough, too soon, they turned their mounts over to the grooms and went, not without trepidation, to the tent where the king waited. Upon admittance, they saw that the Lord Elrohir and General Benoit were sitting with him: the three men were sipping wine and talking together in low voices.
When they entered, it was the Elf Lord who stood up. "Where is the Lady Legrace?" he asked sternly. The three of them were descended from kings and queens and were all stout of heart and strong of nerve; however, each one of them was stunned, for the fierce Noldorin blood within him had been stirred.
"She sent me away," answered Alys, unable to meet his eyes.
"Why? What happened?"
"Wait a bit, wait a bit." Now, King Eldarion got up and came over to them. "My dear lady, pray, be seated and take a glass of wine. Gentlemen, I bid you to do the same." He arched an eyebrow at Elrohir and then moved to see that the lady, still in her riding gear and spurs, was comfortable before resuming his own seat. With immense effort, his uncle did the same.
"Now, tell us what occurred, Lady Alys," continued Eldarion kindly. "You were observed leaving here with the Lady Legrace after the parley."
"Yes, my lord. The lady was very distressed, so I accompanied her. She wanted to speak with the woman Tempest. I tried to dissuade her, but she said she would go with or without me, and I thought I should stay with her." She purposely avoided looking at the Elf Lord, and she instead looked only at the kind but grave face of Eldarion.
"So, you went to find Tempest?"
"Yes, and the three of us rode together to a quiet place where they spoke together in private. I could not hear everything, my lord, but they spoke of strange things. Then they moved away and spoke together in quiet voices."
"Can you tell us what you heard?" King Eldarion encouraged.
"Very little, and it made not much sense. My Lady Legrace said that Mordor had only bittersweet memories for her and nothing else, whereas Tempest said that all was bitter for her but not at all sweet. The talk continued thus for many a long minute, with my lady speaking of exquisite love and happiness, and that Tempest speaking of hate and vengeance."
"Had you any sense that they knew each other before?" asked Benoit. Till now he had remained silent; indeed, she had almost forgotten his presence.
"No, sir. It seemed that they were strangers who… knew each other by reputation. That is all."
"Well, then. What next?" prompted the king.
"Well, my two guards were detected and exposed." She indicated Dacius and Leofric. "My lady was angry. She told Tempest to – well, I don't recall. To execute them or imprison them."
"She told her to do what she would with us," volunteered Leofric.
"Yes, of course," said Alys, flushing.
"And then?"
"Well… Tempest said she could do nothing for fear of alienating you, my lord, or her new allies. Then she spoke quiet words with my lady before departing. After that, I spoke a little with the Lady Legrace. She was deeply distressed and sent us away in haste."
"And you left her there? Alone?" Eldarion turned to frown at Dacius.
"Forgive me, sire, if I did wrong," said the man with calm resolve. "I was charged with seeing that the Lady Alys was safe, and I have done so. The Elf Queen spoke to us very rough and belittled us as if we were only pups in her eyes, and I truly believe that is all she saw. For my part, I would have sent the Lady Alys with Leofric and attended the other lady, but I don't think she would have stood it, and in her anger, she was particularly fearsome. Thus, I come here now."
"So, you left a lady alone and unprotected," said Eldarion flatly.
"I did, sire."
"For pity's sake!" exclaimed Alys. "He had no choice! Lady Legrace would not endure his presence and sent thunder down to hurry us along away from her."
A little chuckle sounded from Elrohir. "Yes, I think it is safe to say that no fault lies with Captain Dacius tonight," he remarked. "For that lady has no need of protection of any kind and occasionally chafes at the good will of mortal men."
"Sir?" asked Leofric. "I wanted to know how that Elf Queen got such a horse. For her mount is Stigontral gone gray, is he not? I should know that colt anywhere! He was black when he was sent to Gondor, and now he is curiously gray, yet he is the same colt."
A deep, malignant silence settled over the group: Eldarion was staring at his uncle without speaking. The horrible truth had at last come together in his mind and there was no denying it now. Nothing seemed to come between them, and the silence stretched, reaching a horrible length in a minute, and then two, and finally three. "I must speak with Lord Elrohir now," Eldarion said in a coldly formal voice. "Please leave us for now."
At first there were a few seconds of hesitation. Dacius was the first to bow; he took Alys by the arm to escort her and glanced at Leofric who bowed as well, looking confused, and went with them. Benoit hesitated longer, wishing to stay and needing to know what Eldarion knew, what was said between the two.
"You too, Ben," said the king, and there was no option. The old spymaster made his bow and departed after the others. Alone, then, Eldarion still stared at Elrohir. "You think I am some kind of fool, it seems."
"By no means," sighed Elrohir. "You suffered much when the Lady Fala left, and I sought to protect you from more."
The young king swore blackly and shook his head. "You have lied to me."
"I have spoke no untruth and have deceived you only by omission and only to protect you."
"Protect me?" Eldarion snapped, then laughed: a sharp, unpleasant sound. "By the Valar, Elrohir, you are a vile creature. She loved me – do you understand? She lived with me, shared my bed, almost might have been my Queen. And you took her from me."
"It is not so. I did not meet her until after she had left you. I knew it would divide us; thus I hid the truth from you."
With a snort of disgust, the king went to take up his wine glass and swallowed the contents in one quick gulp, then poured another glass and tossed that back as well. "What sort of woman would do such a thing? Why did she come to me in disguise? For certain, she could have seduced me as easily – far more easily, to be sure – as she is now. Is she some sorceress? Is that how she changed her appearance and the color of the horse? I have never heard of elves leaving one man and taking another, I though you mated for life. By elven custom, she is mine, you know, until my death."
"It would be true if either of you was an elf," began the Elf Lord slowly. "That lady is no elf. She is of the immortal race of the Blessed Ones from across the sea. I cannot say she is not wicked according to the judgment of men and elves; however, she did love you very sincerely and still does. It was she who gave us the warning of the armies of the enemy. It was she who told us of this evil creature who raised the dead. And it was she who told that the Army of Dead would not long trouble our brethren in the North. She fretted for your sisters because you did. Do you not see that she holds you in dear affection?"
All that he said was true and made sense. It gave Eldarion pause, and he turned it over in his mind. Then, he shook his head. "She shared my bed those months, and now she shares yours. It is too much." He turned and fixed Elrohir with a look of cold hatred. "You will go from here, back to Imladris. You are no longer welcome in Minas Anor and will have no contact with Ancalimë and Gilraen."
Elrohir paled and his eyes grew wide. "Eldarion… with this dark threat that we are facing, this is too drastic. Let me go away for a week and then we shall speak again."
"No, you are to go now and never to return. You have made your choice and so now have I. Go with your faithless and cruel lady, and I wish you joy of her."
Still stunned by the starkness of this pronouncement, Elrohir blinked. He had known Eldarion all his life as well as Elessar his father, and Arathorn his father, and many others before: this was no idle threat but a punishment and a ruling that he meant to keep. "My dear nephew, you seek to punish me, which I understand, but in doing so, it is really yourself and your sisters whom you are harming, as well as your people. If I leave this place now, I will not return. You must realize that you have not the ability to defeat this powerful evil without me. Thus, I shall depart at dawn, and you will have the chance to change your mind before then."
"I will not change my mind."
"Very well." Elrohir came to stand before him, and the two men looked into each other's eyes: Eldarion's full of anger and hurt, Elrohir's full of sorrow and regret. "Unlike your mother, I have chosen the fate of the elves, so I shall not see her again. It well may be that you and I shall never look upon one another again in this world or any other. I say now, as my last words to you, that nothing – no woman, no army, no evil – can ever come between us. For ever and beyond the Timeless Halls, you will be my beloved nephew and I shall recall you always with love in my heart."
The king did not waver. "Farewell, uncle. I wish you no ill."
"Farewell, Eldarion. May the Valar keep you safe." With these words, Elrohir departed.
Having left the camp before dawn, midday found Elrohir and his lieutenant, Culandun, a high ranking Noldo, just coming to the crossroads where they could choose to go to Osgiliath or turn northwards. The cold, spring rain on this gray day reflected the Elf Lord's thoughts and mood perfectly, and there they stopped. "Here we must part, old friend," said Elrohir.
"Why? Do you not go on to Imladris?" Culandun asked in surprise.
"Yes...," Elrohir said slowly, considering. "I shall be there, by and by. I cannot say when, but you may tell Elladan that I will come." From under his cloak, he drew a sealed parchment and handed to him. "You may give this letter to him or Armith or to Curandir in their absence. Lastly Morglin. It is my account of these days and for the eyes of the High Council of Imladris only."
The other elf took the document and tucked it securely inside his tunic. "I shall, of course, deliver it." He paused and looked thoughtfully at the Elf Lord whom he had followed for more that a millennium. No words were necessary, for he knew what Elrohir intended, more or less. "May the stars of Elbereth guide you, Elrohir. Good luck, my friend."
"And may the Valar keep you until we meet again, my dear friend." They clasped each other's forearms, eyes locked, for a long minute. When they parted, neither looked back. Culandun urged his mount into a canter towards the bridge, and Elrohir turned northwards.
More slowly, he went now, tracking. The road had seen heavy use recently by the army going north to enter Mordor through the Udûn, but the weather had been dry for several weeks. The road was a good one, and hard, and the rain had washed most signs of travel away; therefore, only the freshest tracks showed. At first he had a little trouble, for the rain had started too recently. Focusing all his concentration, he kept Rhosguin to a slow trot as he scanned the road ahead. Though the rain was not heavy, it prevented good visibility, and he had to keep a sharp watch.
An hour passed and then another as the leagues went by. He slowed Rhosguin to a walk as he continued to look for marks in the mud. Three hours after they had parted, and still nothing. And then…
There. Clearly in the firm mud was the mark of a horseshow, and not of a warhorse. Leaping down from the saddle, Elrohir lead Rhosguin and studied the marks. Yes, this was what he had been looking for. He followed them on foot for a while, but the rain was increasing, and he knew he had only a little time before the marks were all washed away.
Back astride his chestnut warhorse, he started out at an easy canter. Now that he had something to follow, it was easy. Still, the rain was slowly erasing the hoof prints, and there was not much daylight left, if this pale, murky grayness could be called light.
Suddenly, he pulled up. The tracks went off the road, to the right, into the wilderness of Ithilien. He knew this area – in all his centuries of life, there were few areas he didn't know – so he turned Rhosguin off the road to follow where their prey had gone. Now, there was no need to look for the rapidly disappearing marks of hooves, for there were many other signs to look for: broken branches, trampled foliage, torn leaves. The acrid smell of smoke jolted him, and his heart raced. Close now, ever so close. Slowly, he rode through the woods following the marks and alert to any signs of a fire.
Coming out into a little clearing, he stopped. There, ahead, was a little fissure in the rocks, an outcropping of the Ephel Dúath, a narrow opening that formed a little cave. Inside, back a ways and out of the wind and rain, was a small fire. Elrohir paused a moment before dismounting and leading his horse into the entrance.
Rhosguin whickered happily and there was an answering snort form another horse. It took only a second to accustom himself to the darkness, and then Elrohir saw the troublesome colt Stigontral, tethered by a basin of water and covered with a green blanket. Nothing else stirred. "Legrace?" he called, pushing down the hood of his cloak and glancing around.
For a moment, he wondered if he should just wait for her and decided to see to his own horse while he considered his options. He rubbed Rhosguin down and covered him with his blanket then set both their feedbags as they stamped impatiently and pawed the sandy, dry ground.
When the two horses were settled happily together, he drew up his hood again and went out into the clearing before the entrance to the little cave. With careful movements, his eyes swept along the perimeter until he found the fresh marks of a lady's boots walking off to the left. He followed.
Not far had she gone, and he soon caught sight of her ahead. Swathed in her blue cloak, standing with her back to him, she seemed to be gazing out over the surface of a silvery pond that was rippled by circles from raindrops. With the rain, she certainly could not hear him, but could she not sense his approach? He made his was closer, and still she did not turn. Would she send him away? Laugh at him? Weep? Bid him a cold farewell, like Eldarion?
Finally, her reached her and came up beside her, and still, she made no movement or sign that she was aware of his presence. He drew alongside her, but when he saw her face in profile, he froze. A terrible grief and sorrow lay upon her like a mantle, and her ancient black eyes had deepened as her mind traveled far back in the mysteries of her memory. The sight of her suffering thus caused him acute pain.
"Legrace," he said softly.
With a shudder and a gasp, she traveled back over the eons, hurtling back to the present moment. At first, she blinked and drew in a heavy breath, but then she stared at him in absolute stunned silence. No, she had not sensed his presence; it was obvious.
"Legrace," he said again, thinking of the things he had decided to say to her. Words escaped him, now, and he gazed mutely at her, knowing that the Lady Alys had been right: he had hurt her. With delicate slowness, he reached out to touch her. His fingertips brushed over her cheek, his fingers slid back to bury in her hair, his other hand slipped about her waist to her back, and he drew her to him. In the gray rain, he leaned towards her and kissed her, at last, with gentle passion.
Lifting his head and holding her back from him, he looked gravely into her eyes. "I once told you that I would go with you when Eldarion had no further need of me, and that day has come. I shall ask you to make me one promise only, my lady, and that is to forsake all others in favor of an elven husband."
The shocked expression on her face made fear grip his heart. His fate had been sealed from the moment that he had first seen her; however, now he was past the point of no return. Time hung in the balance, there at the crossroads, for all would be changed, far more than the fate of one Elf Lord, when Legrace made her decision.
If it is your wish to be fruitful and pour forth more of your brilliance into a new being, you must leave him
Not for anything would I do so.
Then, this is your fate, to share in his affliction, for his seed is poison and nothing shall grow from it again.
The thunderstruck shock that Legrace felt gave way to the long ago memory and then to one thought, and it was an unselfish one: he needs to have at least one child. What was he about? She had told him when she had first come to him in the capital city of Harad. Could he have forgotten? It seemed almost absurd to imagine that he had forgotten or overlooked such a thing, but what other explanation could there be? Elves took a spouse only once, and it was strange to think that he would knowingly take one who could not procreate. To take her to wife, barren as she had become, was unthinkable for one of the Eldar who took such delight in their children. There were, however, the enflamed words that had passed between them not so very long ago
"He is not your child!"
"No. But he is the closest I shall ever come to having a son of my own."
It had been his way of telling her you and no other, and it had pierced her, hurt her, to know that he had already given up the possibility of having children for her. Now, she stood scowling at him, not knowing what was wrong with him. "You know there can be no children."
"Yes, I know."
"It may not matter now, but as the ages pass, it would be a burden and a regret."
He stood for a moment regarding her with a stark look. "I cannot take another woman. If you will not have me, then I am alone, and there will be no children anyway."
Sadness filled her. Although she understood, for she had made the same decision long ago, at least she had borne her two children before that. His decision was firm, though, and had been this whole time: she did not doubt him.
Her next thought was selfish: Elves faded. Accustomed as she was to the glorious pleasures of the physical, could she abandon this life as he aged and go back to the flame of the incorporeal spirit only? Before this world, she had dwelt long in the Timeless Halls. Would she miss the physical? Or would the communion of spirits with him be enough?
Was this what she was supposed to do? When her beloved had communicated with her for the last time, the final gasp before the all-consuming maw of nothingness had taken him, he had told her to let no harm come to the young pup who should now take care of her. Was this what he had meant? Strange… strange. How very short a time ago was it that she had been promised him and his twin as fair toys to amuse her! And now he would give himself to her for always! This way, she got only one of the set, but something had changed since that last visit to the Tower. Something had changed with that final farewell.
"The customs of elves are strange but not unpleasant, and I would have a condition of my own," she said looking at him very seriously.
Hope and longing filled his eyes; he tamped it down. "Anything within my power."
"It is possible for your physical body to be damaged or destroyed, and then you would go to the halls of Mandos. Now that is no great tragedy for me, for I am accustomed to waiting. Among the elves, though, such a physical transition is considered the end of a union. If I am to agree, then we must have the understanding that such an event will not affect us."
Only for a moment did he pause to consider it, for it meant going against the laws and customs of his people. On the other hand, it was an agreement that he could live with and that would affect no one but himself. "I agree," he said.
A decision was clearly called for. She turned away from him, withdrew into herself, and stopped all thoughts. Without memory, without words or images, she simply was; her essence filled her and she carried with her the essence of all whom she loved or had loved. In the quiet fire of her self, she was, she felt, she knew. Always she had been, always she would be, but the strange world of mortals and physical sensations distracted her.
How long had passed she was hardly aware, but it was very dark when she turned and looked at him. The clouds obliterated both moon and stars, but a little light reflected the pond and the Elf-lord could see her answer in her expression before she even spoke.
"I will give you my promise, then," was what she finally said. "Must I now go to Imladris for some elaborate ritual?"