Chapter Five: Tears and Discussions
The two elves talked as they strode down the corridor. Eärendil was eager to know about Elrond's past, but Elrond often found it difficult to speak honestly to his father.
"I don't really remember much about my early childhood," he said nonchalantly. "I know I grew up west of the Blue Mountains, and later traveled to the northeast…" He was recalling only the basest memories of his life. "I've lived near there for most of my life, until I journeyed here."
Eärendil nodded. "What were your parents like?"
That phrase set Elrond's heartbeat in check for an infinitely long moment. How could he ever answer that? He couldn't possibly make it sound like something out of the past. He was standing right beside his father, going to meet his mother!
In the instant that his pulse was frozen, the elf felt tears fill his eyes. He blinked them back, chanting mutely, I will not cry. I will not cry.
"Is something wrong?" asked Eärendil in concern.
Elrond drew a breath that held a sob as his heart started again, now thumping at twice its normal tempo.
"P- please excuse me," he gasped, then turned and fled.
His father called after him, but Elrond was deaf to it. All he wanted now was to get away.
He reached his bedroom, shut and locked the door, then crumpled onto his bed. Burying his face in his pillow, he fought to quell his tears, the tears his father had unwittingly caused to flow.
When his silent sobs halted, the elf turned onto his back and whispered to the ceiling, "I can't do this."
"It was not your fault," said a soothing voice.
Elrond turned his head toward the voice, and saw Lórien and Mandos standing calmly at the side of his bed. The Dream-lord's face held compassion, and the Doomsman looked sympathetic.
This was most unusual; Mandos had only ever shown pity once. Yet here he was, his eyes glimmering a sad blue shade, his pale face tender. He placed a gentle hand on Elrond's shoulder as the elf sat up and bowed his head.
"Do not be ashamed to weep," the Doomsman told his comrade kindly. "Not all tears are an evil."
"I doubt I can take much more of this," said Elrond, starting to weep again. "They're my parents, and I can't even…" He mopped his face with his sleeve. "They don't know how much I love them."
Lórien moved softly to the elf's side, caressing his cheek with a hand.
"It will be all right, Elrond," he whispered. "I swear this to you."
Elrond nodded trustingly, gazing into the Dream-lord's blue eyes. "Thank you."
Lórien only smiled, gently pushing the elf back down onto his pillows. Moving his hand to Elrond's brow, he began murmuring in a familiarly strange tongue.
Elrond felt a comforting numbness steal over him. He imagined he was dangling by one hand on the pale ledge of consciousness, hanging over the darkly churning whirlpool of sleep. Lórien was kneeling above him, prising his fingers away one by one as he chanted part of a children's game in a sing-song voice.
"Eeny, meeny, miney, moe…"
One by one his fingers lost their grip.
Elrond smiled.
He plunged silently, willingly, into oblivion.
----
Mandos sighed as he saw the elf's eyes glaze over, and his body go limp. He looked up at Lórien and spoke softly.
"You know he was right to be distressed, brother. To be with his parents after more than six thousand years, and unable to show his love for them… it could ultimately shatter his heart."
"What of the child?" inquired the Dream-lord. "Surely Elrond the Second, as he is called, could show the needed affection?"
"He is only half of Elrond's true essence," said Mandos. "They are as the two sides of a coin; you cannot purchase anything with just one side. Both must be together to be of any value."
Lórien sighed. "What do you suggest we do?"
"We can discuss this in a moment," said Mandos, stepping toward the door. "I will return shortly; there is someone I must first speak to."
----
Eärendil hurried through his house, glancing left and right as he rushed along. Where was Elrond? The elf had run off so suddenly, and Eärendil couldn't help but think it was his fault.
"Master Elrond!" he called. "Master Elrond?"
"Lord Eärendil," said a deep voice.
Eärendil skidded to a halt and bowed low as a dark figure appeared before him. "Lord Mandos, what can I do for you?"
"I am in no need of assistance," said the Doomsman. "I am here to inform you that Master Elrond does not wish to see anyone at present."
"Is he all right?" asked Eärendil anxiously.
"He is resting in his bedchamber at the moment," Mandos explained calmly. "An excess of stress, I believe, was the cause of his sudden departure."
Eärendil sighed, relieved. "I'm glad he's all right."
Mandos nodded. "I have an important matter to discuss with my brother, so I will take my leave."
"Very well, sire," said Eärendil with a bow.
The Doomsman turned and swept away in silence.
----
"What is to be done?" wondered Lórien. "Eärendil and Elwing are entirely unaware that their elder son is the one they named their children's godfather."
"And to inform them of this at this time would only further complicate matters," sighed Mandos. "We must wait until both Eärendil and Elwing know Elrond – both sides of him – enough to accept this. The present is far too early."
Lórien nodded. "What of the prophecy?"
Mandos paused. "Yes… that will indeed hinder matters. We shall see."
Both glanced down at Elrond, who was still lying immobile. Mandos noticed his brother had pulled the bedspread up over the elf's body. He sighed as he gazed down at Elrond's still face.
"You know nothing of what awaits you," he murmured softly. "I wish I could tell you all. This life will never be the same as the last."
Lórien stood in a calm silence, closing his eyes and laying a gentle hand on the half-elf's brow. Mandos glanced at him.
"What dreams are you sending him?"
"Happier times," the Vala murmured. "Much happier times."
----
Elrond woke slowly, feeling quite well-rested. The first thing he noticed when he sat up was that Mandos and Lórien were nowhere to be seen. By the sunlight streaming through his window, he saw it was nearing noon.
"Master Elrond?" said a voice from the doorway.
Elrond looked, and spotted his father standing on the threshold, carrying a platter of food with two goblets of wine.
Eärendil smiled when he saw Elrond was awake. "May I come in?"
"Of course," Elrond replied, rising from the bed and straightening the blanket a little. He glanced oddly down at the tray laden with enough food for two people. "I don't think I'm quite that hungry, my lord…"
"I thought you might like to join me for dinner," said Eärendil, setting the food down on Elrond's bedside table. "I also wished to speak with you in private."
"I've been wanting to speak with you as well," Elrond told him, selecting a glass of wine and sipping from it. "I wish to apologize for running away from you earlier today. It was extremely rude of me."
"It was my fault for upsetting you," Eärendil replied.
Elrond paused before he spoke, trying to choose words that would accurately describe his pain without revealing his identity.
"You wanted to know about my parents," he said warily. "But the truth is I never really knew them well myself. My mother died when I was a child, and I hardly even knew my father."
"I'm sorry," said Eärendil softly. "That must have been hard for you."
Elrond nodded, glancing discreetly down so that his father wouldn't see his unshed tears again. Eärendil quickly changed the subject as he picked up a roll and buttered it.
"I thought it best that you know this now, or else I might get caught up and let it slip my mind. I am leaving soon for Valinor."
"Valinor?" repeated Elrond, his eyebrows arching. "Why?"
"To seek help from the Valar," Eärendil replied. "Surely you know about the seven sons of Fëanor?"
"I've only heard a little of them," Elrond lied. "What about them?"
"I fear they may invade Sirion," said his father, lowering his voice. "We have something in this haven that they feel is rightfully theirs, and they will do absolutely anything to get it back."
The Silmaril, Elrond thought. He knew his mother held one of the three Jewels of Fëanor, whose crystalline depths held the light of the long-lost Two Trees of Valinor, Telperion and Laurëlin.
"Do you think they'll come soon?" he asked.
"I don't know, but I want to be prepared. If the worst happens…" Eärendil shuddered and faltered.
Elrond shivered as well, as a voice floated into his mind like a breath of wind: The thing you fear will happen four years hence.
"I pray the worst won't happen," he murmured.
"So do I," his father nodded. "But there is always an if…"
Oh, yes… If. That little word, thin as a dagger's edge, upon which hung the two definite sides of every question, yes and no. Everyone's greatest fear was what if… It was a nasty, uncertain word.
"Yes," Elrond muttered disdainfully. "I despise that word."
There was a rather awkward silence, and Elrond broke it with a hesitant question: "When will you be leaving?"
"When my ship is ready," Eärendil replied. "It will take a few weeks yet, and then I'll need to load her with supplies and such… so, at the earliest, about a month."
Elrond nodded mutely. A month… he had a month to get to know his father. But could he manage, knowing he could never say "I love you"? And if he fouled it up… what would Eärendil think? How would he bluff his way out?
"Are you all right?" his father asked, breaking into his morbid thoughts.
"I'm fine," he said a little too quickly, sipping from his glass of wine so he wouldn't have to speak.
Eärendil frowned a little, but shrugged a shoulder. He knew better than to intrude upon others' private thoughts. But he couldn't help wondering…