Chapter Thirty-One: The Truth
Manwë moved swiftly to Elrond's bedside, carefully picking up the makeshift chessboard from where it rested, delicately balanced upon the elf's knees. The Wind-lord carried the parchment over to Elrond's desk, holding it level so as not to disturb any of the miniature people upon it.
The Vala seated himself and studied the game. Morgoth's small likeness was still leering in victory, while the diminutive Valar and Elrond hung their heads in sorrow. Lórien's image stood where he was, not seeming to have moved since his dismissal. As the real Manwë stared sadly down, the Dream-lord's replica gazed up at him, an utterly distraught look on his face.
"Forgive me," the Wind-lord whispered, laying his hand flat, palm-up on the desktop. "I know this is difficult for you, just as it is for him. If there was some other path we might take, I would gladly…"
The tiny figure of Lórien nodded, stepping forward onto Manwë's outstretched palm. The golden-haired Vala lifted his hand to eye level, gazing deeply into the mini-Dream-lord's eyes, smaller than pinheads, which were now weeping microscopic tears.
Lórien's image slowly pulled a minute handkerchief out of his small robe, drying his face with it. Then he turned his head to where Elrond lay sleeping, still watched over dutifully by Estë and Elwing. He glanced quizzically up at Manwë, who looked in that direction as well.
"Perhaps," he said softly. "I doubt that it would do much good, but it cannot likely cause harm… We can try."
Manwë cautiously cupped his hand a little, walking slowly toward the elf's bed, with the likeness of Lórien leaning against his fingers to stay steady. The Wind-lord lowered his hand slowly to Elrond I's shoulder, onto which the Dream-lord's small figure fairly leapt. Manwë, Estë and Elwing watched him half-slide down the elf's collarbone and traverse his neck, carefully ascend his jaw via a strand of his hair, and step out onto his left cheek. Elrond didn't react.
Little Lórien turned sadly back to Manwë and clambered off of the elf's face. The Wind-lord sighed. What had he been expecting? More fire, more blood? Perhaps. But now that that was proven false, his fears were relieved… for the moment. He gave the small figure of the Dream-lord a faint, reassuring smile.
"Give him time," he said gently. "Wait until morning. For now, let him rest."
The miniscule Vala nodded soundlessly, making himself comfortable on the elf's pillow. He could wait.
----
Elrond awoke in the morning to the sound of birdsong outside his window. Pale sunlight streamed down through the glass, bathing his face with a warm golden radiance. Sitting up, the elf smiled as he spotted his mother seated at his side, just as she had been when he had first fallen asleep. Glancing a little to the left of her, the elf-lord bowed his head in respect to Mandos, who had apparently taken Estë's place sometime in the night.
Elrond glanced down abruptly at a rustling noise beneath him, accompanied by a tickling sensation on his arm, almost akin to the touch of an insect's feet. Yet this was no insect but a replica of Lórien, not even two inches in height, and impeccably detailed. He knew instantly that it was the image that Manwë had conjured from his chessboard diagram the previous day.
A smile pulled at the elf's mouth as he watched the tiny Vala stride toward his elbow and climb up to his shoulder. Two infinitesimal blue eyes met his, and Elrond, strangely, felt tears spring up in his own.
"This is…" he began, and found he had no words to say. He merely stared at little Lórien in silence, trying to organize his emotions. This was a replica of a dear friend; a reminder of a deep loss that had devastated a strong bond.
I understand perfectly, a voice murmured in his mind.
The elf looked up, bowing his head to Manwë, who now stood at the foot of his bed. The Wind-lord wore an expression of deep sadness.
I guessed that it might turn out thus, he sighed. Is joy destined to be overwhelmed by sorrow forever?
It's not that, sire, Elrond insisted. This is certainly the most thoughtful gift I have ever received. It's just… He faltered.
You miss him terribly, Manwë finished for him. As he misses you.
The elf nodded. I do miss him. He was like a brother to me… the older brother I never had.
Mandos shifted a little, quickly quelling the emotions that surged and seethed within him. Like a brother. That was exactly how he felt about Elrond. Exactly.
He sighed soundlessly. He could not tell him yet. But there were other things that needed to be revealed to Elrond… by he himself.
The Doomsman laid a hand on the elf's shoulder, causing him to turn and bow his head. Mandos spoke clearly and firmly into Elrond's mind: In time you must tell yourself of your heritage.
How much time? Elrond asked.
Wait until you are sixteen; then you will be old enough to comprehend.
Sixteen? the elf repeated, a faint tremor entering his voice. His unlucky number, again.
Yes, Mandos confirmed grimly. Sixteen. You have eleven years.
----
Elrond's fears only slightly diminished over the next eleven years. Even with the promise of the Valar's protection, the elf frequently caught himself glancing over his shoulder. But each time his worries were assuaged by a chuckle in his ear, the slight iridescence of a shadow, or a breeze scented with sweet lavender. Morgoth didn't reveal himself again at all, and the elf was never sure whether to be glad or anxious about it.
"Fear not," Tulkas said confidently. "Morgoth is likely 'licking his wounds', so to speak; he will not dare show his face again soon."
"That's what concerns me," the elf replied. "I don't know exactly what Morgoth is doing. He could be regrouping, gathering his strength for another attack, which could happen at any moment…"
"You are forgetting," said a deep voice, "that Morgoth is incredibly afraid of Tulkas. He would never dare show his face in his presence."
Elrond bowed courteously to the newcomer. "Good morning, Lord Mandos."
Mandos nodded. "Good morning, Elrond. How are you?"
"Well, thank you. And yourself?"
"Satisfactory," he said aloud. Then he sent a thought: Today is the day you must reveal the truth to yourself. This is the hour. Go.
Elrond politely excused himself, and set out to find his other half.
----
"Elrond, may I speak with you for a moment?"
Elrond II glanced up at Elrond I's voice. The older elf's face was quietly insistent. The teenager nodded, glancing back at Elros, who was deep in conversation with Gil-galad. The younger twin met his brother's eye and rose, thinking it was a summons, but Elrond I shook his head. "Alone, please, Elrond. Come with me."
Shrugging, the youth followed his godfather down a corridor, into the elf-lord's bedroom. Elrond II sat down on the bed, waiting for Elrond I to shut the chamber door tightly and have a seat next to him.
"What's this about?" the teen asked, his eyebrows lifting slightly.
"Something I have wanted to tell you for years, but have only been allowed to today," his godfather replied. "It concerns you and I, as well as the Valar."
"The Valar?" Elrond II frowned. "Why would they be concerned about us? And why are you staring at me like that?" he demanded, jumping up and glaring straight into Elrond I's eyes, the exact shade of his own.
The elf-lord shook his head, sighing. "I can't remember having such a strange temper in my life. I suppose that just goes to show how much I'd forgotten."
"What in Arda are you talking about?"
"That, Elrond, is a very long and complicated tale beginning before you were born. But at this point I am ordered to relate it to you in full, bar nothing. And just in case you were wondering," he added, sternly meeting his own doubtful stare, "the one who decreed this was Lord Mandos himself."
The teen fell silent for a while, frowning. "This is about what happened eleven years ago, isn't it? When I felt the fire and blood, and there was some sort of council."
Elrond I nodded solemnly. "I didn't think you'd remember it; after all, you were only five when that happened. But, then again," he added to himself, "who could forget something like that?"
"It's not like I remember all of it," the youth retorted. "Just parts of it, like how I turned ink into ice. How did I do that, anyway?"
"Don't you remember what Lady Varda told you that night?" asked his godfather softly. "She said that your ability was a gift derived directly from Eru, and that it was to be kept a complete secret, except from myself and your mother."
Elrond II nodded in slow recollection. "That's right… hang on – that was Lady Varda?"
"Indeed it was. And the others were the rest of the Valar."
The teenager frowned. "I only remember seeing thirteen of them… aren't there fourteen Valar?"
"Yes," said the older elf, in a much quieter voice. "Yes, there are."
"Then why weren't they all there?"
"They were, for a time," Elrond I answered with difficulty. "But Lord Lórien had to leave in the middle of the council. Lord Manwë dismissed him."
"Why would he do that?" the youth wondered.
"Because of the… incident… which stirred the council. Lord Lórien was affected by the fire as well, and although he was appointed to be your and my guardian long ago, there was too much of a risk of something like that happening again. So he was told to leave, and to never again contact your or I from that point on."
"Why me?" Elrond II inquired.
Elrond I smiled rather oddly. "That is where my story begins, on a rainy autumn night…"
He launched into the tale. No detail was unspoken, nor were thoughts unrevealed. Every second of his life, from that fateful morning in Sirion up to the present, Elrond I recalled with the finest discretion; Eärendil's departure, the sack of Sirion, and all the time they had spent in the household of Maedhros and Maglor were described impeccably. Dreams, wishes and worries were laid bare, and all the while Elrond II was silent.
When the elf-lord arrived at the first encounter with Morgoth, he forced himself to speak on in spite of his pain. Everything was remembered, down to the look of sorrow and pain in Lórien's eyes, just before he had departed. The chessboard, the ice in the inkwell, and all that Elrond had seen and heard, he repeated again.
In a pause that allowed Elrond I some breath, the teenager spoke at last.
"So… why exactly did this all happen to both of us, at the exact same time?"
Elrond I's eyes became deep and grave. The truth was at hand.
"Because," he said, in a voice that quietly demanded complete attention, "we two are the same person, you and I. One soul in two bodies. And Morgoth has been trying to reach us since before the beginning. That is the reason for my depression – it was the Dark Lord's power. I was sent back in time to save my life – your life."
The youth's eyes widened in disbelief. "I'm you?"
"And I am you," Elrond I nodded. "We are like the two sides of a coin; very different in appearance, but our spirit is one. One day you'll grow up and find yourself in my boots… no pun intended."
"We're the same person," Elrond II repeated slowly, as though trying to reassure himself that those words had truly been spoken before. "We're both Elrond."
"Yes."
"Does anyone besides Mother know?" the teen asked.
"No-one except for Father, and the Valar," the elf-lord assured him. "Our secret is safe."
Elrond II frowned suddenly. "You keep saying 'we' all the time. Shouldn't there be just a 'me'?"
"I suppose so," Elrond I agreed. "But no-one knows about this, remember? They all think we really are, well, a 'we'. But yes, in truth, there is only 'me'. And that's us."
Elrond II had another question: "What will happen once we – I – once time goes back to where this all started?"
"I don't know," the elf-lord sighed. "Maybe we'll stay like this. Maybe we'll become one person in one body. Only Eru knows."
"And Lord Mandos," the youth reminded him.
His godfather nodded. "And Lord Mandos."