Chapter Twenty-One: Choices and Consequence

Elrond sighed sadly as he picked at his dinner. He didn't want to be here. He just wanted to lock himself in his room and cry himself to sleep so he couldn't feel the pain. But that wasn't an option.

Everything reminded him of Caranel. Each time a servant approached him with a tray of food, his mind would make him see her carrying it, and his eyes would instantly moisten, without fail. His plate was moved away from him, still full, to make way for dessert.

Elrond nearly burst into tears when he caught sight of what was on the menu: fresh, warm honey-glazed muffins.

Just like Caranel used to bake.

That was the last straw. Choking on the lump in his throat, he excused himself as quickly as he could, and fled to the safety of his bedroom.

----

Elrond collapsed onto his bed, shaking and sobbing. He closed his eyes in a vain attempt to stem his tears, but almost at once a vision of his lost friend came rushing up to greet him. He pounded his fist against the mattress, silently screaming.

Why? Why did it have to end like this? She should be alive… it's all Maedhros' fault! He killed her! What did she do to deserve that? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!

"I am sorry," said a sad voice above him. "But this was not ordained by me."

Elrond lifted his teary face to look up at the Doomsman, who was gazing sympathetically down at him. The elf raised a hand to wipe his eyes, but Mandos grasped his wrist gently.

"What have I told you about mourning?" he asked tenderly.

"'Do not be ashamed to weep'," Elrond recited in a murmur, allowing the Vala to lower his hand. "'Not all tears are an evil'."

Mandos nodded slowly. "Precisely. But you need rest at the moment. There will be a time to take counsel with Fui."

Elrond recognized the phrase. Fui was another name for the Valië known as Nienna; she was the Lady of Mourning. To "take counsel with her" meant simply to grieve.

Mandos turned away slightly, calling mutely to Lórien. The Lord of Dreams soon swirled into view, a sad look in his pale blue eyes. He moved immediately to Elrond's bedside, as the elf turned onto his back.

"Lord Mandos?" he said abruptly, sitting up as a thought came to him.

"Yes?"

Elrond hesitated for only a moment. "When I tell Maglor what my real name is, do I have to tell him… everything?"

The Doomsman shook his head. "Your name alone will suffice. Simply tell him what you told your parents when you first met them."

Elrond nodded understandingly, lying down again. "All right."

Lórien placed his hand upon Elrond's brow as he had done many times before, sweeping the half-elf into a semi-conscious dream…

A pale ledge above a churning sea. Five fingers clinging tightly to stone, pried away with a gentle song. Lórien's lullaby.

Then came the sweet release, and a long drop into deep sleep.

----

Maglor sighed as he adjusted the bandages that swathed Maedhros' head. His brother was badly hurt; it was uncertain when he would wake, or even if he would wake. The wound Elrond had inflicted was deep. Very deep.

He shivered slightly as a sudden thought came to him. What if Maedhros never awoke? What if he just lay there, trapped in a coma, for the rest of what could barely be called his life?

He sighed again, turning his gaze to a small package that lay on a table nearby. He had looked it over so many times that he'd memorized every fold and tear, every loose thread and faded patch. Gently, carefully, he picked it up.

The bundle felt unusually heavy in his hands. Shuddering, Maglor remembered the words that had been spoken to him by Mandos; strange, riddling phrases thick with mysterious foreknowledge.

The elf cast one last, long look at his brother's still face before striding quickly from the room. There was something he had to do.

----

Maglor advanced softly down the hallway toward where he knew Elrond's bedroom was. The Silmarils were tucked under his arm, their alluring splendor hidden from any prying eyes.

When he reached the right room, he found that the door was shut and locked; no sound came from within. He raised a tentative hand, and knocked thrice.

Inside the chamber, Mandos looked up and sighed. "I will handle this."

He flicked his finger calmly at the latch, which clicked and unlocked just as Maglor's soft voice reached his ears.

"Lord Eärendil? I hope I'm not disturbing anything…"

"Come in, Maglor," Mandos replied. "But be quiet."

The door creaked as it opened, and the son of Fëanor slipped softly inside, bowing hastily as he spotted who had spoken to him.

"Lord Mandos… I wasn't expecting…"

"But I was," said the Doomsman. "Put them on the desk."

Maglor knew exactly what was expected. He carefully placed the tight-wrapped Silmarils on the aforementioned table, bowing again. "I'm sorry to interfere."

Mandos shrugged dismissively. "No matter. You may go."

"Yes, sire."

----

Elrond awoke to find that Mandos and Lórien were nowhere to be seen. It had become a familiar sight. But something was strange to him; something was different. He rose to his feet, frowning as he realized what it was.

The Silmarils lay on his desk, innocently hiding in their worn cloth wrappings. The half-elf picked them up warily, wondering how and when they had got there. He stowed them in his robe, and looked up as footsteps approached.

"Eärendil?" a voice called from the other side of the door.

Elrond opened the door, seeing the younger son of Fëanor apprehensively approaching him. The half-elf strode briskly forward, holding out the clothbound Silmarils.

"Do you know anything about these?"

Maglor nodded. "I put them in your room while you were asleep. Lord Mandos said that it was the right thing to do."

"Are you sure about this?" Elrond asked. "Giving them to me, I mean."

Maglor nodded. "Yes. Lord Mandos told me to give them to you; he said you would need them."

Elrond considered this for a moment. What could he possibly do with two Silmarils? But maybe it was better not to question circumstance. He stowed the bundle in his robe and spoke calmly to his companion.

"There's something you need to know. My name is not Eärendil, it's Elrond; Elrond the First, to be exact. Eärendil's elder son, my godson, is Elrond the Second."

Maglor looked surprised, then confused. "I always wondered why the twins never called you Ada, but I thought that it might be unwise to mention it. I've only been calling you Eärendil out of habit," he said. "I wondered when you would reveal your true identity."

"Well, now I have," Elrond smiled. Then a frown tugged at his lips. "How is Maedhros?"

Maglor sighed heavily. "You dealt him a severe blow, Elrond. I don't know if he'll wake up… ever."

Elrond bowed his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't want…"

"Yes, you did," said Maglor quietly. "You wanted to hurt him. You wanted him to suffer. You wanted him to feel some tiny part of what he had made Caranel feel."

"I don't want that now!" Elrond cried. "I'm not like your brother, Maglor. I never meant for any of this to happen."

"They all say that," Maglor told him icily. "Once everything is said and done, and there's no turning back, that's what they all say."

"But we can still help him," Elrond said, his voice imperative. "I'm a healer. I can tend to him. I'll do all I can."

"Will you?" Maglor asked softly. "Even after what he did?"

Elrond didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Even though you know the consequences may be against you?"

"Yes." A bit slower this time, but still adamant.

"Then follow me."

----

Elrond carefully placed a hand on Maedhros' bandage-covered head, allowing a rush of healing energy to escape him and flow to the other elf's body. Maglor hovered anxiously nearby, chewing on his lower lip as he watched.

Maedhros never moved as Elrond continued to pour out his healing power. His chest rose and fell in rhythm, but that was all. Not even a moan escaped his lips.

"Will he be all right?" Maglor asked, after a few minutes of almost total silence.

"Shhh," Elrond replied without looking up. "I need to concentrate."

Maglor fell silent again, his eyes moistening as he went back to nibbling his lip. Elrond glanced sympathetically over at him.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "But these things take time."

Maglor nodded mutely, but frowned as a voice whispered in his head.

When he wakes, Maedhros will not be as he was before. Both of you will be in danger if you linger long. Get out while you still have the chance.

It was the voice of Mandos. Maglor knew better than to ignore him.

"Elrond…" he began hesitantly.

"Shhh!"

"This is important!"

"What?" Elrond frowned at him.

"Lord Mandos has just spoken to me," the son of Fëanor replied. "We can't stay here."

"Do you want me to heal Maedhros or not?"

"Well…" Maglor hesitated. "Lord Mandos just told me that once he wakes up, Maedhros won't be like he was before. He said to tell you that we need to get out of here while we can."

Elrond opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment Maedhros gave a groan and began to stir, twitching fitfully. Maglor stared down at him, then up at Elrond in trepidation.

"He's coming to… we can't stay here!"

But Elrond didn't move. He stood frozen, his eyes fixed upon the squirming elf in the bed before him. Maglor tugged at his arm, crying, "Are you deaf? We have to get out!"

"Wait," Elrond whispered. "Just one more minute."

No! Flee for your lives!

"We have to leave!" Maglor insisted yet again.

A horrible noise issued from Maedhros' throat as he writhed beneath the bedclothes. His eyes flew open, wide and unseeing; his hand scraped at the air, fingers gnarled like claws. Reaching for Elrond.