Chapter Thirty-Six: Sorrow and Strangers
"If it is any comfort," said the Doomsman gently, "Elros felt nothing when he… came to me. He was asleep at the time."
Elrond nodded mutely, grasping Mandos' hand as he extended it, and letting the Vala pull him to his feet. His breathing was a little easier now, and his tears had already half-dried on his face.
The elf reached up automatically to wipe his eyes with his sleeve, but Mandos stayed his wrist and lovingly brushed the droplets away with his own hand. Elrond was surprised at the gesture, but did not resist it.
"Thank you," he said politely, in a voice hoarse from crying.
The Doomsman nodded. "You should tell your other half of this, as well as your mother."
"I will," Elrond replied, bowing. "Please excuse me…"
But he had only just reached the door when Elrond I stumbled over the threshold, his face white and his limbs shaking. He was supported by Elwing, who had a frightened look on her equally ashen features.
The elf-lord's gaze met that of his other half, whom he noticed had obvious tearstains on his pallid face. The elder elf lifted an eyebrow slightly, and the younger closed his newly-brimming eyes for a moment.
"Elrond, and Mother, there's… something you both need to know. It's important."
Elrond I felt his pulse quicken. "What is it?"
Elrond II only managed to let one word claw its way out of his throat.
"Elros…"
Elwing closed her eyes, wrapping her arms tight around her son, and sinking to her knees as she wept. The elf returned the embrace, feeling his own two bodies and her single one shuddering in shared grief.
Elwing lifted her eyes, meeting the gaze of Elrond II. "Was it painful?" she whispered.
"No," the young elf replied, attempting a smile. "Mercifully, no."
His mother nodded, slowly reaching up to caress his face. "Oh, Ronnie…"
He stiffened, cringing away from her touch. "Please don't call me that anymore."
Elwing's eyes filled with pain. "Why not?"
"Because," Elrond II said throatily, his voice saturated with anguish. "That was your way of telling me apart from Elros. And now that he's gone, it's just… I can't…"
He crumpled against her, his tormented sobs redoubling. His mother tenderly stroked his hair, murmuring in his ear through her own tears.
"I'm sorry, Elrond… I'm so sorry…"
"It's not your fault," he croaked. "It's no-one's fault."
She kissed his cheek, tasting the salt of his tears. They remained still for what felt like an eternity, gazing deep into each other's eyes. Then, slowly and deliberately, they both rose and parted.
Elwing nodded silently to Mandos and Estë before leaving the room softly and returning to her own chamber, lost in her thoughts. Elrond stared wordlessly after her, his blue eyes glistening in sorrow. The Doomsman shared a brief look with his sister-in-law, and they, too, left the room in a whirl of silken robes and skirts.
----
The letter confirming Elros' death arrived a week later. Elrond would have thrown it into the fire unopened if Maglor hadn't halted him just in time, wanting to read the message. As understanding sunk in, the son of Fëanor tried his best to console his friend.
"I know how you feel," he said kindly, putting his arm around the half-elf's shoulder in a brotherly way. "I've lost my brothers as well… all six of them. Well," he added quietly to himself, "five of them, anyway. But Maedhros…"
He faltered, and they both shared an unpleasant series of centuries-old memories. Maglor shuddered as he tried in vain to dismiss the terrible recollections. Elrond spoke gently to him in reply.
"It's all right," he said softly. "Maedhros wasn't your brother. Not in the end, at least. He was… different."
"He was an animal," Maglor muttered. "A ruthless, bloodthirsty beast."
"Yes," the half-elf nodded. "A beast."
----
As the days rolled into weeks and months, Elrond and Elwing were not the only ones to take counsel with Nienna, as the saying went. Mandos took the phrase literally, and paid his younger sister frequent visits. They could often be seen treading the halls of Mithlond side-by-side, deep in conversation.
"Námo," said the Weeper one afternoon, "why have you only now taken such an interest in my company? Never before have you expressed a desire to mourn."
"I know it well," Mandos replied. "But never before have I borne witness to such strange circumstances as these. I have never lingered in such close proximity with the Eldar and Edain, save for those who have died. Life is a mystery to me. Emotion and I are nearly complete strangers. Only recently has Sorrow shown itself to me. And Happiness…" The Doomsman gave a wistful sigh. "Ah, Happiness. A character to cherish."
"Alas, Happiness is foreign to me," said Nienna sadly. "Sorrow is my only acquaintance of the heart; I know her well. Yet I understand little of other sentiments. Tell me…" She turned her deep blue eyes to his. "What is it like to feel glad?"
"It is utterly indescribable," Mandos told her, an unfamiliar light entering his glimmering eyes. "To my knowledge, Happiness is to the spirit as sunlight is to the earth. It is warm and rich… it penetrates deeply. It aids in the nourishment of life."
"But I have life, yet I have never known such emotion," the Valië reminded him. "How can that be so, if what you say is true? Is Happiness all there truly is to existence?"
"As with all things, there is a balance to be preserved," the Vala answered. "As the sun is often veiled by rain, so Happiness and Sorrow each have their places. And some share in more of one than of the other."
"Ah," Nienna nodded. "So you speak of people such as myself and Tulkas. I have known nothing but unhappiness in all the ages of my life, and Tulkas knows little else but bliss. This is becoming clearer."
"Perhaps," said Mandos, "but there are countless other emotions to consider here. Anger, fear, love…"
"Love?"
The Vala nodded. "Yes, Fui. Love is also revealing itself to me."
"Love toward whom? Vairë, surely, and Irmo…"
"And toward you," Mandos finished. "In a fraternal and marital sense, I do love them and you. Yet it spans a greater distance than that. I am beginning to feel love toward someone else. Someone whom I have been near for over five centuries… an Elda."
Nienna raised a slender eyebrow. "An Elda? Whom?"
"Elrond."
"Does he know?"
The Doomsman shook his head. "I dare not tell him yet. Not the entire story, at least."
"How, then?"
"Little by little."
----
Even over a thousand years after Elros' death, Elrond found it difficult to say his name out loud without weeping. But Mandos' words still resonated in his heart, stirring up a mystery. Why would the Doomsman of the Valar want to comfort him after a death? It sounded as though he really cared… but why would he?
And yet small, unexpected acts of consideration from said Vala seemed to be hitting him left and right. A brotherly embrace here, a kind word there. It was good of him, yes, but still a cause of confusion. Mandos was trying to tell him something, without a doubt. Was it something greater than just, "I care about you"?
Whatever it was, the Doomsman didn't seem to want to reveal too much at a time. Elrond bided his time, accepting his caring actions and words, gratefully leaning (and sometimes weeping) on the proffered shoulder. And the mystery deepened every day.
----
"Lord Elrond?"
Elrond I glanced up from the book that lay open on his desk, turning his head and smiling as the King strode into the sunlit room. "Good afternoon, my lord."
"Good afternoon, mellon nin," (my friend) Gil-galad replied politely. "I didn't see you at dinner. What have you been up to, if I may be so bold as to ask?"
"Just sorting through some old memories, sire," Elrond answered, rising.
"Please, call me Gil-galad," the King laughed. "We've known each other long enough."
"Very well," the half-elf complied, beckoning his friend to his side. "And you can call me Elrond."
Gil-galad gazed silently at the book the half-elf had been reading. The upper right corner of one page was folded down, indicating that Elrond had previously left off at that point. The page itself, as well as the one before it, was covered in smooth, flowing cursive. The date at the top of the marked page read: October 28, 530 1st Age.
The half-elf glanced at the page as well, saying quietly, "That was the night Morgoth first attacked me."
"Oh," the King murmured, his eyes widening slightly in realization. "And you choose to dwell upon such a memory?"
"Not dwell, exactly," Elrond replied. "I was more… skimming over it."
There was a period of rather uneasy silence, broken by Gil-galad's voice. "I thought you should know that I'm going on a journey to Eregion in a few days' time. I've received an important summons from Lord Celebrimbor."
Elrond frowned. "Celebrimbor, son of Curufin?"
Gil-galad nodded. "The very same."
"Maglor's nephew," the half-elf murmured. "Well, he'll be pleased." He frowned slightly at the King. "How long will you be gone?"
"I'm afraid I can't give you an entirely accurate time period," the King answered. "More than a fortnight, I'm sure."
Elrond nodded. "I wish you well."
Gil-galad smiled. "Thank you."
----
The King's absence ended up lasting for nearly three weeks. Elrond and the other elves dutifully followed Queen Eithelien's orders in his friend's stead. The Queen, a tall, regal elf with a lovely face framed by long golden hair, was just as honest and gracious a ruler as her husband.
True to Elrond's prediction, Maglor was glad to hear of his nephew. Fëanor's son asked his friend to tell him everything he knew about the elf. Elrond told him what he could remember: that Celebrimbor was an extremely skilled jewelsmith, with silver hair similar to that of Cirdan.
"He's as kindhearted an elf as you could ever meet," the half-elf said truthfully. "I hope you meet him someday. I think he'll be as glad as you were to know he has some family left in this world."
"I hope we meet, too," Maglor agreed quietly, a faraway look in his eyes. "I wonder if he looks more like his father, or his grandfather?"
"I couldn't possibly tell you, having never met either of them," Elrond told him. "But he is good-looking."
"Well, maybe we'll see," Maglor murmured. "Maybe someday our paths will cross."
----
The King's return was greatly welcomed by all. Gil-galad was scarcely heard to mention the exact reason for his departure, but Elrond heard him speaking to Cirdan in a hushed voice one evening, and saw as the two of them examined something very small. Or more than one something.
The next morning, the half-elf noticed both the King and shipwright sporting exquisitely-crafted, and very familiar rings. And he knew without a doubt that the one Gil-galad wore was none other than Vilya, the Ring of Air.
Elrond listened conscientiously to the King's words at breakfast that morning. The chat between Gil-galad, Maglor, Cirdan and his two halves had turned gradually to Gil-galad's encounters in Eregion. The King spoke earnestly about his experiences; the people he had met, things he had done. One character in particular snagged at Elrond's awareness, and sent a strange, hot shudder through his body.
"Annatar was indeed a strange fellow," Gil-galad told his comrades idly. "He was quite a charming elf, but something about him just gave me cold chills. He had a strange manner about him as well. Extremely persuasive. His tongue was more silver than Cirdan's hair."
"What did Annatar say to you?" Elrond I asked, feeling another weird, searing shiver.
"Strange things, at first," the King replied. "Things about power and lordship. He claimed to be a lord himself, I can't remember where of. Then he asked me about Mithlond, and my people. I told him it was a very pleasant place to live, and he told me he would like to visit sometime. Well, I could never refuse that. So I invited him to stay for as long as he wished."
At this, Elrond choked on a sip of wine.
"You did WHAT?"