Chapter Thirty-Three: Triangle
The sun beamed down on the lone figure standing on the west-facing balcony above the lawns of Mithlond. His dark hair and robe shimmered faintly, giving the impression of an overgrown raven. His skin, in contrast, was extremely pale, almost translucent. His long-fingered hands curled loosely around the balcony railing as he stared down at the goings-on below.
Elves called out cheerful greetings to one another in various tongues, every one of which he understood. Young children shrieked with laughter, rushing and tumbling about on the grass, while teens strolled calmly around them in tight-knit clusters. Young adults, barely of age, lounged in the welcoming shade of some stately oaks and sipped their first goblets of wine. Their chatter was mingled with the sweet melody of a skillfully-played harp.
Mandos sighed, his downcast eyes silently hooding over. The wind riffled gently through his iridescent locks and swept them up into his face, but the Vala made no move to push them back. He turned away in a fluid motion that sent his robes billowing out behind him, and strode briskly back into the main building. He sent out a thought as he walked.
Elrond, I wish to speak with you. Meet me in the Great Hall. Immediately.
----
"You wanted to see me, sire?"
The Doomsman nodded as the elf-lord approached him. "Gil-galad is growing suspicious of you, and of my kin. We cannot keep ourselves a secret for much longer. You must tell him everything, and you must do it now."
Elrond I nodded, bowing and stepping toward the door. "Of course, my lord. I'll look for him immediately."
"He is in the west gardens," Mandos called after him.
"Thank you, sire," Elrond replied over his shoulder as he hurried out the door.
----
Gil-galad sipped casually at his goblet of wine, smiling quietly to himself. It was a good day to be alive. The spring air held warm hints of approaching summer, his people were happy and carefree, and his realm was safe. Nothing would spoil his good mood.
"King Gil-galad?" called a voice.
"Yes?" said the King, rising to greet the approaching elf. "Good morning, Lord Elrond."
"Good morning, sire," the half-elf replied, bowing low. "I wonder whether I could have a private word with you, right now, if you wouldn't mind?"
"Of course," Gil-galad acquiesced. "Is there a problem?"
"Not as such, sire. But this is important."
The King nodded, following his comrade into the haven and down several long corridors, toward Elrond's bedchamber. Both elves smiled politely as Elrond II walked up to them; Gil-galad's look was bittersweet. Eärendil's son had never been quite the same since his brother's departure. That was months ago now.
The elves exchanged greetings, and Elrond I nodded silently to his godson. The younger elf shot him a look of puzzlement, which the elder dismissed with a lowered eyebrow. They both turned to Gil-galad, and Elrond I beckoned him forward into his bedroom.
"What is it you wished to see me about?" the King asked, as the elf-lord closed the door and pulled the curtains down over the window.
"Something that has only been told to three people," said Elrond I softly. "Lord Mandos has ordered me to tell you our deepest secret." The elf indicated himself and his godson as he spoke.
"What secret?"
"You had better sit down, sire," Elrond II advised, gesturing to the bed. "It's a very long story."
----
Mandos aimlessly strode the corridors of Mithlond, wondering why he did so with every step. It was no effort to shed his body and move invisibly, and yet he chose to use his feet more and more often.
He sped up his pace slightly when a familiar ticking sound, steady as a heartbeat, met his ears. It was a sound he heard every day in his halls; Vairë operating her loom. She must be nearby.
The Doomsman soon spotted his wife seated on a bench around the corner, her loom set up before her and a basket of threads at her elbow. Her reddish hair was once again tied back with a white ribbon, and her head was bent over her work. The Weaver didn't look up until he was at her side.
"Good morning, Námo," she greeted him softly with a smile. But it soon faded when she saw the look on her husband's face.
"What is it?" she inquired. "Is something amiss?"
"It is nothing," he told her, rather curtly.
Vairë's golden eyes narrowed in confusion. "I doubt it is nothing. You seem troubled."
"I am fine," he insisted.
But he knew he wasn't. A horrible foreknowledge had been nagging at Mandos' mind for days. He knew it was his duty, and yet it pained him to think of it… the fateful day was drawing nearer with every second…
"Námo," said Vairë's voice, breaking into his thoughts, "please tell me what is troubling you."
"Very well," he sighed. There was no sense in hiding it anymore. "I am dreading the day when Elros will finally come to my halls. The news will break Elrond's heart."
"And you worry about this?"
Mandos paused for a moment. "Yes," he finally admitted, reluctantly.
"That is… most unlike you."
"You need not tell me."
"But…" The Weaver's voice now held concern. "You have never felt for anyone in this way before. He might not return your affections."
"Elrond feels for Irmo in the same way that I feel for him. A triangle is developing."
"A loving triangle?" Vairë wondered.
"A fraternal one."
Vairë was silent as she considered this. Námo felt for Elrond, who felt for Irmo, who felt for Námo. But did it run both ways?
"Elrond and Irmo share affection," Mandos answered, "as do Irmo and I. But Elrond does not know of my feelings, and thus cannot easily return them."
She nodded. "I see."
Mandos glanced down at his wife's tapestry: a half-finished illustration of Elrond I and II informing Gil-galad of their unusual heritage. He nodded in satisfaction, noticing the tiny image of Lórien perched upon Elrond I's shoulder.
"Now you know, Ereinion," he murmured, gazing into the woven face of the King. "You alone know… and it must stay thus."
Vairë looked up at him, but the Doomsman turned and swept away without another word, leaving them both to their thoughts.
----
"A long tale, indeed," said Gil-galad pensively. He stood facing Elrond I and II, who had finished relating their story to him. Two grey eyes held four blue ones in a silent gridlock as the King digested these new revelations.
"Do you swear not to tell anyone?" Elrond I asked. "Not another living creature."
"You have my word as a King," Gil-galad replied solemnly.
The elf-lord shared a sideways glance with himself, who nodded. "Very well."
"Is that all you wish to tell me?" inquired the King.
Elrond II nodded. "Yes, sire."
"My lords," a shy female voice interrupted, "I have a letter for Lord Elrond the Second."
Elrond II strode forward, taking the message from the servant's hand; the elleth bowed to him and scurried away. The elf carefully opened the sealed scroll and unrolled it as his godfather moved to his side, reading it over his shoulder:
Dear Elrond:
I realize that this is my second letter in as many days, but I thought it was best to inform you immediately that today we have reached the isle of Númenor. (Besides which, we're brothers. I should be contacting you often, at least every other day.) How is everything in Mithlond? I hope you're well, and Mother and Godfather as well. Send them my love. I miss you all so much it hurts.
On the upside, my people are all safe and sound. The island is plentiful, from what we've seen; Talvon has been scouting the terrain, and his news is good. There is an abundance of streams and rivers, and forests with trees perfect for building. The soil is also excellent for farming.
But enough of my ramblings. I want to know everything that's happened since I received your last letter. I could almost see everything you wrote last time, as if I had been at your side. And don't leave anything out – I can tell when you've been doing that.
All my love,
Elros
PS: No sign of feathers yet!
"'No sign of feathers'?" Gil-galad repeated, frowning; it seemed he had been reading the letter as well.
Elrond II laughed. "It's a joke we shared. We'd both try to invent the most impossible of situations, and apply them to our lives. In this case, Elros told me that he'd only forget me when he turned into a rooster and flew across the world. And he says he hasn't begun to grow feathers yet."
"I see," the King smiled.
Elrond II nodded, rolling the message up again with a smile and a sigh.
"Where's Mother? I should give her this."
"I think I saw her in the dining hall," Elrond I informed him.
"Thanks."
Bowing to the King, he excused himself and hurried away.
As the door clicked softly shut, Elrond I turned to Gil-galad, sighing, "It hasn't been the same around here since Elros left. I knew it would happen eventually, but it doesn't make it any easier. We're twins… it's almost like we're the same person in two bodies."
"Rather like you and your other half?"
"Sort of. When you're that close to a person for so long, you become part of each other. I know Elros and I are no exception. We could just about read each other's minds. And now that he's gone, I feel like a part of me is missing. But, then again," he added quietly, "a part of me has always been missing." Father, he said silently.
Gil-galad laid a kind hand on his friend's shoulder. "If you truly love them, they'll never leave you."
Elrond I nodded sadly, turning his head to look over at his other shoulder, on which little Lórien stood in silence. The minuscule Vala gave him a tiny smile, which the elf returned with tears in his eyes.
"You're right, sire," he said, looking back at the King. "They'll always be with me."
----
"Lord Mandos?" Elrond I called, hurrying down the corridor after the Doomsman.
"Yes?" The Vala turned, nodding as his comrade bowed.
"I've spoken with King Gil-galad," the elf informed him. "He now knows nearly as much about me as I do."
"Good. Though you needn't have come to tell me."
Elrond nodded. "Right. Because you already knew. How quickly my memory lapses."
Mandos frowned slightly at the phrase, which he had heard before only issuing from his own mouth. He sighed quietly, and then noticed that the elf was smiling.
"I don't blame you for knowing everything, sire," Elrond told him kindly. "It's what Eru gave you, like my ability to turn ink into ice. We can't choose our destinies."
The Doomsman nodded. "But yourgift extends far beyond ink. You will eventually be able to transform other things, in time. With practice."
"Things like what?" Elrond asked carefully.
"You will see. But you must learn to control your gift first. Beginning now."
The half-elf nodded. "Very well. If you'll excuse me, I'll go and look for myself."
"You are dismissed."