Chapter Twenty-Seven: Bondage and Blood
Mother and son stood and talked long into the evening. It was past twilight when both of them retired, after watching Eärendil rise for his nightly flight.
"Goodnight, Mother," the elf-lord yawned.
"Goodnight, Ronnie."
Elrond smiled at the use of his pet name. "I never thought I'd hear that name again."
Elwing's eyes glimmered strangely. "I never thought I'd use it again. Now get to bed, it's late."
The half-elf smirked wryly. "Yes, Nana."
----
Elrond lay awake for a while, watching his father soar silently across the star-sprinkled heavens until he softly faded from view. No other star could approach him without being overwhelmed by the light of the Silmaril. Vingilot sailed alone.
The elf sat up and smiled as Lórien entered, as he had done many times before, with the intent of sending Elrond dreams to fill the deep void of sleep. The Vala sat at his friend's bedside in the chair that had been set out specifically for him, and reached carefully out for Elrond.
Two pairs of blue eyes slowly met and locked, heedless of Lórien's hand hovering above. They held each other there for what seemed an age. This was a regular routine for them – why did they both feel that this night would be different?
Elrond frowned slightly as the Vala laid his hand on his forehead. On any other night, his touch would be like the caress of a butterfly's wings; this time, however, the elf was fully and unusually aware of Lórien's fingers pressing against his head. It almost hurt, but not quite.
Lórien calmly sent out the vision that had become their nightly practice: the pale ledge of awareness above the dark whirlpool of sleep.
They strode together to the edge, where Elrond flipped deftly down and hung by his right hand, waiting for Lórien. The Vala smiled as he dropped to his knees, reaching out to pry his friend's fingers away from the stone. He sang tenderly as he pulled each digit away, one by one.
"Eeny, meeny, miney, moe…"
Just before he fell, Elrond smiled briefly up at Lórien, who returned the gesture calmly.
"Sleep well," the Dream-lord whispered.
Lórien shivered slightly as he pulled away from the now-sleeping elf. He couldn't begin to try to explain it, but the Vala knew something was going to happen soon… something that would alter them both forever.
----
Mandos sighed as he cast off his earthly body, merging with the shadows all about him. Unbound by his restricting corporeality, the Vala moved silently and steadily, choosing to compromise between the extremes of death: swiftness and slowness.
Slipping through the city unnoticed, he halted abruptly as something else arrived.
NÁMO…
The familiar voice echoed through the Doomsman's mind as he swept through Mithlond. It was great and powerful, yet gentle and fatherly at the same time. It was a voice whose owner knew no limits, whether in time, space or might.
If Mandos had had a body at this point, he would have bowed. Even so, his incorporeal spirit humbled itself before the voice of his Creator.
I am here, Eru.
LISTEN WELL. YOU KNOW WHAT WILL OCCUR TOMORROW EVENING.
It was not a question. The Vala affirmed the statement in one word. Yes.
YOU KNOW WHO IS COMING FOR THEM.
I do.
THEN YOU KNOW THAT YOU MUST NOT INTERFERE BEFORE I SAY TO. LET THEM BE SUBJECT TO THE FIRE.
Mandos was silent. He knew just what Eru was telling him. But to allow this to happen as it was decreed, to do nothing… would it not be like treason?
ARE YOU CONSIDERING DISOBEDIENCE, NÁMO?
The voice of Eru was still gentle, prepared to forgive, but slightly firmer. The Doomsman lowered himself even closer to the floor.
Please forgive me. I meant no impertinence. But you know of my thoughts toward them. To do nothing but stand and watch… it would be like betraying brothers.
THERE WILL BE DARKNESS AHEAD FOR YOU ALL, BUT YOU ALONE KNOW WHAT THE END WILL BRING. I AM TRUSTING YOU TO FULFIL MY VERDICT.
Mandos concurred submissively. I shall do as you say.
GOOD.
The voice faded, and the Vala was left alone in the shadows. His spirit slowly coalesced into his body, and he stood still and mute. For the first time in his life, he felt a prickle in his eyes, and they brimmed with moisture as he realized the fate of his comrades.
For the first time in his life, the Doomsman wept.
----
Lórien left Elrond's bedroom softly, and shed his body just outside of the door. Skin, hair and clothing seemed to melt away into nothing. His spirit, free now, fluttered through the air like an invisible hummingbird, for dreams are fleeting and versatile.
He darted through the hallways, searching for his brother. Mandos had a rather bad habit of wandering off whenever he was needed. And tonight was no exception to the rule.
If he had had lips, Lórien would have smiled. Even so, he radiated a feeling of pleasure when he spotted his brother walking slowly down a corridor nearby. Mandos seemed not to notice him at once; his eyes were downcast, and his posture indicated deep negativity. Instinctively, Lórien slowed down and approached him with the utmost caution.
Námo? he called out softly.
Mandos halted abruptly and stiffened, dissolving quickly into the darkness. Lórien flitted toward him, dancing like a windblown leaf.
Námo, he repeated, are you all right?
The Doomsman's only response was a deep mental sigh. The Dream-lord swirled around him, asking gently, What is it?
Mandos finally turned toward him. Eru has spoken to me, Irmo.
And? Lórien hovered concernedly at his brother's side. What did He say?
Silence.
Lórien sighed. Very well. Perhaps it is best that only you know.
Indeed, Mandos muttered to himself. It is indeed.
----
Elrond stirred slightly, regaining awareness with a small frown. He didn't generally wake up this early; the sun hadn't even risen outside his window. Eärendil's star still sailed the deep, inky sky, bathing the world below with the Silmaril's light.
Elrond's thoughts turned slowly to his own Silmarils. Why had Mandos chosen for them to be given to him, of all people? What would he possibly do with both of them? At the present they sat hidden in a box in the back of his wardrobe; he didn't dare take them out, for fear that someone would see them and assume they had been stolen. So they remained secret to none but Maglor.
The elf winced as a sunbeam lanced through his window, momentarily dazzling him. He strode over to the window and twitched the curtain slightly closed, partially obscuring the light. There, that was better.
He turned and smiled as someone knocked on the door. "Come in, please," he called.
"Good morning, Mother," he added more quietly.
"Good morning," Elwing greeted him, closing the door behind herself before moving up to her son and kissing his cheek.
Elrond's face instantly turned a vivid shade of crimson. "Mother!"
"Your other half lets me kiss him," Elwing told him, slight disapproval in her voice.
Elrond stared apologetically at her. "I'm sorry. But what if someone was watching? This half of me is a grown elf, after all, and people would start to wonder. How could we bluff our way out of it?"
His mother nodded. "You're right. I shouldn't have."
"But I'm glad you did," Elrond smiled.
Elwing smiled as well, turning toward the window and sighing sadly. Eärendil was gone for another day.
"Do you remember the day he left Sirion?" she asked softly.
Elrond did remember. The vivid recollection of that bitter night thrust a dagger of sorrow deep into his heart. It felt like five minutes ago, even though they both knew it was years.
The elf-lord's eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. Eärendil had written him a letter on the night of his departure… Elrond had framed it and hung it on his bedroom wall. What had become of it? Had it been destroyed in the siege of Sirion? It seemed impossible that the answer was no.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Elwing inquired gently.
Elrond wept quietly as he explained, "Father wrote me a letter the day he left. I promised myself that I would always keep it, as a reminder of what we once had. But I don't have it anymore. I think it was destroyed when Sirion was attacked."
Elwing put her arm gently around him. "He wrote me a note, too. I took it with me when I fled to the Sea, so I would have something of him with me when I died. It was ruined by the water."
Elrond stared at her in awe. "I didn't know."
"No-one but your father did."
They both sighed, gazing again at the sunny blue sky. They had shared their losses, and it seemed that their grief was diminished slightly. Just slightly.
----
Elrond had only just climbed into bed that evening when Lórien dutifully arrived for their "sessions". They exchanged nods, and the Vala sat down by the elf's bedside, as always. He reached out to send out a dream, slightly more slowly than usual.
Elrond frowned slightly, but waited patiently as Lórien prepared to do his duty. His hand came closer… skin met skin…
And they both screamed.
The world was ablaze with fire… it ignited and sprang up from the places where Lórien's fingertips met Elrond's forehead. The flames spread until they covered both the elf-lord and the Vala… it was on them and in them, and it was them… bound by their agony, they could do nothing but scream…
Blood poured from Elrond's wounds, mingling with the tormented tears he didn't know he was weeping. He reached up with a flaming hand and seized the wrist that held them together… but it only redoubled his anguish. They were doubly fused now, held fast by bonds stronger than steel…
…but Elrond, through the scarlet haze that veiled his weeping eyes, caught sight of a dark form swooping into view behind Lórien. A third cry joined their own: "Irmo! Irmo!"
The Dream-lord turned to the other figure, sobbing … the shadow gripped Lórien's wrist in a blurry hand, attempting to wrest them apart, but to no avail…
"NO!"
The fourth voice slashed through the world like a knife. A bolt of bright blue light blinded them, obliterating even the deadly flames…
Elrond sobbed in relief as Lórien's hand was pulled away from his head, and he released the Vala's wrist. They were free; the terrible fire was gone. But the agony still lingered.
Half-blinded by blood and tears, the elf stared up at the figures who stood before him. Two of them were familiar; one was not. Lórien sobbed as he clutched his bleeding wrist, and Mandos held a strip of cloth firmly to the deep wound.
The third figure simply stared right back at Elrond, and wept silently. Tears fell from the sapphire eyes like rain, and the fair face was filled with sorrow and compassion. And the elf suddenly knew who it was.
The name slipped from his tongue in a whisper as he slowly blacked out.
"Lord Manwë…"