Chapter Thirty-Five: Darkness and Despair
Elrond II sighed quietly to himself as he rested his chin in his hand and sipped morosely from his goblet of rich, dark wine. His raven hair fluttered behind him in the cold breeze from his open window, snaring a few stray snowflakes.
The elf sighed again, a little louder this time, and rose from his desk to close the window. His gaze passed over the many long, sharp icicles hanging down on the other side of the windowpane, which glittered in the moonlight and cast specks of rainbow light over the walls of his bedroom. He shivered as a memory engrossed him…
He saw it as if it had happened yesterday, even though it had been years ago. He stood in King Gil-galad's private chamber, watching the elf practice fighting his shadow, using Aiglos. His movements were perfectly fluid, flawless. A step, a stab, a leap back; a move as if to block an enemy's blow. The spear was like an extension of the King's own arm.
Then there came a timid rap at the door, and Gil-galad halted. An anxious servant stood on the threshold, requesting the King's immediate presence in the Great Hall. Gil-galad complied, tossing his spear deftly to Elrond, and asking him to put it away.
The half-elf caught the weapon one-handedly, marveling quietly at the intricate design on the handle: strange, spiky shapes twined around and around, stretching up the shaft and glittering metallically. Was that real gold and silver?
His amazement increased tenfold when a clear voice rang out from the shaft, speaking to him in precise, sharp tones. Elrond nearly dropped the spear out of pure shock.
Greetings, Elrond the Second.
"G- greetings," the elf stammered in reply, his eyes widening.
Something like a laugh reached his ears. Ah, so you can comprehend me now. Good. I trust you know my name?
"Yes," Elrond replied, still astounded. "Your name is Aiglos, or Icicle."
In two tongues, yet! Excellent. Now that you can hear my voice, I have a message for you.
"Go on," the half-elf bade him.
Listen carefully. Ereinion will not be my keeper for ever. One day my ownership shall pass to you. And it shall for good reason.
"Why?"
Because you and I share a strange bond. You shall need me in the final battle.
"The final fight…against Morgoth?"
Yes. Your power lies with ice, does it not?
Elrond nodded. "It does. And your name is Icicle…that makes sense."
Indeed, Aiglos agreed. And this shall become clearer in time. But we do not have that in abundance now. Put me away, quickly.
The elf nodded, carefully placing the now-silent spear in its place, resting on two sturdy hooks mounted in the wall. And just in time, for the King returned not a moment later. He said nothing for a moment, but merely nodded, a small smile on his lips.
Elrond blinked, returning gradually to the present. He still stood before the open window, which was allowing chilly air to gust into his face. The half-elf shut the window hastily, brushing snow from his features with his sleeve as he sat down again. Now, where was he again?
Oh, yes… he had just been thinking about Elros. His dear little brother, whom he hadn't heard from in weeks. What was going on? He had promised to write as often as possible, and he had always been true to his word before.
But maybe it wasn't quite as bad as he thought, Elrond reasoned. Maybe Elros' duties as King of Númenor were piling up on him. Yes, that could have been it. It must be it.
"Elrond?"
The half-elf turned, smiling at the owner of the voice. "Good morning, Mother."
Elwing swept into the room, graceful as a swan. Her soft, lovely face wore an expression of quiet concern.
"Have you heard from Elros lately?" she asked, striding smoothly to her son's side.
"No," the half-elf replied in a murmur. "Not for weeks now."
Elwing sighed. "He's never gone this long without writing. Something must be wrong."
"Don't say that!" cried Elrond, jumping to his feet. "He could just be busy or something! He'll write soon, I know he will!"
His mother placed a kindly hand on his shoulder. "It's late, Elrond. We should both get to bed."
He nodded absently, moving away from her and climbing into bed. Though he was nearly five hundred years old now, it still gave him a comforting feeling when she stayed at his side for awhile during the night.
Elwing kissed his cheek lovingly, smiling as he reached up to embrace her. They shared a fond hug, gazing deep into each other's eyes.
"Goodnight, Ronnie," Elwing whispered. She didn't know why still called him that, but it didn't evoke any negativity, so she supposed he didn't mind.
Elrond smiled. "Goodnight, Mother. I love you."
"I love you too, ion nin." (my son)
----
Estë arrived just after Elwing departed, filling the chamber with her soothing lavender perfume. Elrond nodded his head to her as she took a seat at his bedside, in the chair that had once been used by her husband.
Elrond frowned, peeling his coverlet away from his body and kicking it down to the end of the bed. Why in Arda was he so hot? It was the middle of winter! And his whole body was trembling, as though he were cold, but he was far from it. This was downright scary.
"Are you all right?" asked Estë, from her seat at his bedside. The Healer's lavender eyes shone with concern.
"I… I'm not sure," the elf replied, his voice shaking as much as his body.
He raised a hand, running the back of it against his damp, sweaty forehead. Estë, worried, placed a hand on his shoulder and gripped it tightly. She closed her eyes, letting a rush of healing energy course through her body and into Elrond's. The elf shut his eyes as well, breathing deeply of her lingering lavender fragrance, trying to relax and let her power do its job.
The deviant heat spread out, covering his whole body. Something was very, very wrong. He shook more violently now, and it hurt him more and more to breathe. Estë increased her efforts in response, every fiber of her body focused on helping him.
All at once a terrible voice cut through the red-hot fog that was his mind, reverberating in dark delight. It slashed like a thousand swords, every syllable crackling with triumph.
She can't hold me off forever. I'll take you sooner or later. It's only a matter of time.
No! Elrond tried to cry. But he had no voice to yell, and his shout faded even before it left him.
His mind was in chaos, a churning maelstrom of fire mingling with the sweet perfume of lavender. He was lost somewhere in the middle, tossed this way and that by the howling eddies. In anguish one instant, soothed and calm the next, then pitched headlong into pain again.
Your gift was given to you for a reason! Use it!
Elrond had no idea where the voice had come from, but he knew better than to disobey it. He forced himself to relax, summoning the power from deep inside himself. His body felt icy now, just the way he wanted it.
He concentrated his energy on forming a barrier between himself and the flames – not an easy task in the least, for his labors were countered endlessly by Morgoth. The Dark Lord worked his hardest to obliterate everything Elrond accomplished before it was completed. But at last the elf managed to raise a fragile, makeshift wall of ice around himself.
He set about fortifying it, working from the base upward, feeling it begin to melt against the force of his foe's fiery wrath. His own energy was flagging, and he could feel less and less of Estë. Still the two of them fought on, though they were barely enough to offset the might of Morgoth. They needed help – now.
Help? sneered the terrible voice – Morgoth's voice. No-one can hear you. You are mine.
Not while I breathe! roared another voice.
Námo!
Estë's cry staggered through the storm like a wounded bird as Mandos whirled into sight, an expression of utmost rage on his face. Elrond had only seen him angry once in his life, but that one time was nothing compared to this. Fury radiated from the Doomsman's very being like light from the sun.
Greetings, Námo, Morgoth chuckled in contempt. So you've come to defend your pitiful sister-in-law and her pitiful friend. Good luck to you.
Silence! Mandos snapped. Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!
Or what? the Dark Lord snarled. What will you do, Doomsman?
The Vala's upper lip curled in anger, and he flung out his right hand. A long bolt of what looked like deep violet lightning shot from his fingers and lanced through the heart of the storm, blasting a hole in the vortex of flame. But almost as quickly as it had appeared, the hole closed over again. Morgoth gave another resonating laugh.
That was it? That was the height of your power? You are even weaker than I thought!
A tongue of flame leapt free of the storm and twined itself around the Doomsman's body, pinning his arms to his sides and squeezing him as though it were a serpent. Elrond was suddenly gripped by a great and terrible rage. He lunged out from behind the wall he had built, flinging himself full-force toward the besieged Vala.
The fire released Mandos in an instant, coiling around the elf instead. He writhed against it as his anguish redoubled tenfold. It was too much… he felt oblivion closing in around him…
…and then the ice returned, flooding him with new strength. It spread, crackling, coating him with a cold, translucent barrier, like an icy chrysalis. The flame hissed in anger as it tried to melt the obstruction, but Elrond would not give in. He had to win. He had to…
…and outside, Estë and Mandos fought to draw the fire away from their friend, willingly using themselves as bait. But Morgoth was resilient; he knew his target, and he would not stop until he had completed his mission. It seemed hopeless for all three companions.
But in a heartbeat, just when all hope had faded, the fire seemed to be sucked out of the world, leaving darkness in its place. Morgoth's voice echoed in their ears.
This is not the end… you have not seen the last of me! I will triumph yet!
We shall see, murmured Mandos. But at the moment, I believe we should all return to the realm of the conscious.
The three weary warriors ascended gratefully toward the merciful light of awareness.
----
Elrond stirred, blinking as he regained his senses. A wan smile rose to his lips as his gaze settled upon the Vala and Valië who stood at his side. Estë was far paler than usual (the same could not possibly be said for Mandos), and they both looked rather shaken.
"I must thank you for defending me so selflessly, Elrond," said the Doomsman sincerely. "I will not forget this."
"But you repaid the debt in an instant," the elf replied. "We're on even ground."
Mandos smiled slightly, but the gesture was overshadowed almost immediately by a grim expression. He spoke softly and solemnly, his eyes glimmering in a peculiar way.
"Listen well to me, Elrond. I have ill news."
"What is it, sire?" Elrond asked tremulously, his eyes widening.
The Vala drew a slow breath before he answered the elf. He knew exactly what his next words would do. There was nothing he could do to soften the blow.
"I am truly sorry to have to tell you this," Mandos said at length, "but Elros Tar-Minyatur passed to my halls last night."
There was an interminable instant of silence, and then, softly, Elrond collapsed into tears. He buried his face in his hands, stifling his anguished sobs. The Doomsman watched him, not making a sound, except to send a thought into Elrond's mind.
I cannot bear to see you weep. I only wish that I could be the one to brush away your tears, instead of the one who causes them to fall.
Elrond looked up at him, gulping for breath, his body shuddering. Their eyes slowly met, a red-rimmed pair locking with a darkly glistening one… and the elf suddenly realized why his friend's eyes were shining so oddly. They were shining with tears.