Chapter Forty-Five: Shadows of Doubt
Elrond I awoke with tears pouring silently down his face. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he looked up and met the kind, sad gaze of Lórien. The Vala was seated at his bedside, in the chair which the elf had set out years before as a kind of tribute to his relationship with the Dream-lord, in memory of those long-past years in Mithlond. Now, Lórien sighed in remorse as he saw his friend's pain.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, as tears slid down his face one by one. "You bear such a great burden already, and I am only increasing it…"
"It's not your fault," Elrond I said gently, sitting up and reaching over to touch the Vala's shoulder. "None of this is your fault. It's not because of Lord Mandos, Lord Manwë, or anyone else. If Eru has a plan for me, then He has a plan, and I can't do a thing but accept it."
Lórien gave a small, rather watery smile and a faint laugh. "You need not address me as 'sire'. I believe we have known each other long enough to begin taking steps to bring us even closer together. Please, call me by my name."
The half-elf nodded, smiling quietly. "Very well, then… Lórien."
The Dream-lord glanced out of the bedroom window, noting that the ebony sky was still glittering with stars. Dawn was a long way off.
"Go back to sleep," the Vala murmured, laying his hand on Elrond I's brow again. "There are still many hours of the night left to pass."
The elf nodded in obedient silence, knowing he had little chance of fighting dreams. His eyes glazed over as he plunged again into slumber, leaving Lórien sitting wide awake at his side.
"I envy you," sighed a low voice from behind the Vala's chair.
Lórien turned, frowning up at Mandos. "You envy me? Why?"
"You are so fortunate," the Doomsman replied softly. "You and Elrond appear to be the perfect pair… the perfect brothers."
"You are my brother as well, and Elrond's!"
"Maybe so," said Mandos, "but Elrond and I have nothing of a bond so deep as what you share with him. Even when you were not here, Elrond's concerns were for you, not me."
"Only because he did not know of your feelings at that time!" cried Lórien, getting to his feet and facing the other Vala. "It does not matter now!"
"It does," the Doomsman murmured. "You are deeply connected to him, Irmo. The direct sending of dreams, these nightly 'sessions', they all serve to fortify your shared fraternity. You fill his nights with bliss, while I… I am the cause of his sorrow, taking from him the people he holds most dear. He can never truly love me… not while I continue this."
Lórien's eyes brimmed with tears, and he reached out to his brother. "Oh, Námo…"
Mandos slowly drew back from him. "Do not waste your tears on me, brother."
"Waste them?" cried the Dream-lord. "Would you say that of Fui, if you saw her weeping for you?"
The dark-eyed Vala's eyes flickered, but he remained mute. Lórien stepped purposefully forth, forcing his brother to move back. Soon the Doomsman's back was pressed against the wall. His younger brother held him in place with his gaze, allowing his tears to stream freely down his cheeks.
"Do you see these?" Lórien asked, pointing to the rivulets of moisture. "They are tears – my tears – shed for you, and you alone."
"Why?" whispered Mandos, his voice tremulous, and his own eyes moistening. "Why?"
The silver-haired Vala's voice was forcibly firm as he replied.
"I love you, Námo. I love you just as deeply as I love Elrond. I have loved you since the beginning of the Beginning, and I will love you until the very end of the End. Differences in strength, authority, emotion… they mean nothing to me. I love you, regardless of who you are; I love you as my elder brother… as the Doomsman, and Keeper of the Dead… as another son of the Thought of Eru. I love you."
Mandos was utterly silent, his whole body quaking as tears poured soundlessly down his pale face. His eyes were closed, his head bowed. When he looked up at last, it was with a gleam of new understanding in his eyes and his soul. He stared mutely at his brother; the had not moved, and still stood in a sort of tearful defiance. His lower lip trembled just a little, but soon stiffened.
Mandos took a tentative step forward, then another. Lórien stayed where he was, moving only when the Doomsman suddenly wrapped him in a tight, fond embrace, and whispered hoarsely in his ear.
"Knowledge and comprehension are two entirely different things," he said shakily. "This knowledge has ever been with me, but only now have I been granted true understanding." He drew back a little, gazing sincerely into his brother's eyes, hardly caring anymore that he was weeping.
"Thank you, Irmo… for everything."
----
Elrond I wandered down to breakfast the next morning lost in a mist of memory. Cirdan's voice rang in his mind like a clear tolling bell: Follow my footsteps; walk where you know I walked before.
The half-elf halted, shivering, even though he wasn't cold. If the shipwright's words had truly meant what Elrond thought they had, then he, Elrond I, was to…
"Elrond?"
The voice snapped his thoughts as though they were brittle threads. He turned, nodding to Maglor as the other elf approached. Elrond I couldn't help but notice the haunted look in his friend's eyes. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm actually not sure," the son of Fëanor answered. "I had a strange dream last night… I dreamt I was talking to Cirdan."
Elrond I's heart skipped. "So did I! What did he say to you?"
"He told me that… that you were destined to walk where he would have, if he had lived. But he said that you wouldn't be able to do everything, though, so I was supposed to help you by doing what you couldn't. What do you think he meant by that?"
Elrond I's voice shook. "Cirdan told me very much the same thing, but he didn't mention you directly. He just said that I'd have friends to guide me. I know it may sound horrible, but I think… I think, somehow, Cirdan was meant to die in Eregion, so we could fulfill a plan that Eru Himself is laying out for us."
Maglor's face grew slightly pale as he replied, "Then I suppose we have no choice but to do our best."
----
The years paced on, and on… and on. A quiet serenity had settled over Rivendell and the lands around it, but fear and foreknowledge nagged constantly at Elrond I's heart. He felt he knew at least a slight amount of the darkness that was soon to come, and the weight of Morgoth's attacks did nothing to alleviate his worry.
Elrond I had gotten into the habit of checking on his chessboard daily. The pieces moved around the squares, as they always did, but he wasn't concerned about that. His gaze was fixed upon the twin rows of "black" pieces; Morgoth and his minions. The figures of the ex-Vala and his right-hand servant had not changed, nor had the fourteen wispy shadows around them.
But the half-elf knew without uncertainty what at least nine of the smoky shapes would eventually become…
----
Elrond II glanced neither left nor right as he strode briskly through the halls of his haven, never once pausing to marvel at the splendor of the dawning springtime. He ignored the pale buds and shoots that poked their sleepy heads up from the damp, sun-warmed earth; the drip-dripping of cool water from last night's rainfall from the eaves to the paved paths below passed unheeded as well.
It had been nearly five hundred years since Morgoth's incursion of Elrond's dreams, and more than fifty years since the ex-Vala's latest attack, which had been successfully halted by Oromë. Six down, ten to go.
"Elrond?"
Elrond II jumped slightly and stopped in his tracks, turning to see who had interrupted his train of thought. He smiled when he met Maglor's eyes. "Good morning! How are you, mellon nin?"
"Fine, thank you," the son of Fëanor replied pleasantly. "And yourself?"
"Satisfactory. Have you seen Elrond the First anywhere, by chance?"
"I'm sorry, but I haven't. Is something wrong? Should I pass on a message?"
"It's not too urgent," Elrond II assured him. "Don't worry about it. I'll find him sooner or later."
"If you insist."
The half-elf started to speak again, but was cut off by the chime signaling that dinner was ready. He shrugged, beckoning for his friend to follow him. "Are you hungry?"
"Very," Maglor nodded, following him down to the dining hall.
When the two elves arrived, many others were already there. Elrond II scanned all of the tables, seeing with a swiftly sinking heart that his other half was nowhere to be found. He was never late for dinner – not before today, at least.
"Perhaps he's not well," Maglor suggested, as a possible excuse for the elf's absence. It appeared he had been searching the room as well.
"Elves don't get sick, Maglor," Elrond II reminded his comrade. "And in any case, he's a healer. Even if he was ill or injured, which is most improbable, he would surely be able to patch himself up."
Maglor shrugged as they sat down in two adjacent, empty seats. "Has Elrond been acting at all unusually lately?"
The half-elf fell into a pensive silence. Now Maglor mentioned it, Elrond II remembered that his elder self had indeed been acting rather oddly. In fact, when was the last time he had seen himself out of his bedroom during the day, except during mealtimes? Certainly not recently.
Elrond II looked up as the door to the dining hall swung open, admitting none other than Elrond I. The elf looked especially tired, but a strange gleam was in his eyes. He hurried to the table as Maglor waved him over, and took a seat next to his younger self.
"Are you all right?" Maglor asked in concern, noting the contrast between Elrond I's wan face and his glinting eyes. "Is something the matter?"
Elrond I took a long draught of wine before replying rather hoarsely, "Nothing, nothing. I just didn't sleep well last night."
But he sent out a secretive thought to his other half: Come to my bedroom after dinner. I have something gravely important to show you.
----
"You, ah… you wanted to see me? Something important, is it?"
"Yes, yes," Elrond I nodded, waving his hand to indicate that his younger self should step into the room, and not linger on the threshold. "Come here, come here."
"Is there an echo in here?" Elrond II frowned, taking a cautious step forward.
"In here? No, no! Come closer!"
Frowning in confusion, Elrond II advanced warily, moving up to the chest of drawers by Elrond I's bed. He noticed that the top drawer was slightly open, allowing a steady blaze of light and a whiff of lavender to stream out into the room.
"What am I supposed to be looking at?" the younger elf asked.
"Look there, there!" replied Elrond I, his voice quaking with what sounded bizarrely like excitement as he pointed into the drawer. "What do you see around Morgoth?"
Elrond II leaned closer to what his godfather was indicating, his eyebrows forming two graceful arches. "Nine black robes?"
"Nine empty black robes," Elrond I corrected him, an uncanny smile on his lips. "Do you have any idea what they are? Any idea?"
Nonplussed, the younger half-elf shook his head mutely. Elrond I nodded. "No, eh? Well, I do. They're Morgoth's newest minions: Nazgûl, or Ring-wraiths."
"Ring-wraiths?" Elrond II repeated. "Why does that sound vaguely familiar?"
"I've told you about them before," Elrond I told him. "They were once Men, great Kings of Men. They were corrupted by Sauron, and are now his slaves. They are not among the living, but neither are they dead. Un-dead, you might call them."
"You sound happy to see them," said his godson in concern. "Are you sure you're feeling all right? Should I call Lady Estë?" He reached up to feel Elrond I's forehead.
Elrond I quickly sidestepped away from himself. "No, thank you, I'm quite healthy – and quite sane, for your information," he added with a sideways glance at Elrond II. "No, this turned out much better than I would have hoped. Much better."
"Kindly explain."
"Well," the elder half-elf began, lowering his voice dramatically, "we are the first to see these creatures. And I possess a great deal of memories of them from my past life, all of which I could easily pass off as Foresight."
"So?"
"So," his godfather went on, "wouldn't it be useful to warn others of this? The wraiths are relentless in whatever they set their minds to. They'll stop at nothing, for they can almost never be stopped."
"Almost never? There are exceptions?"
Elrond I smiled mirthlessly. "Not many, I promise you. The Nazgûl may be undead, but, ironically enough, at least one of them can be slain. That one is the most powerful of the nine."
"Ironic, indeed," Elrond II nodded. "So, who should we warn first?"