Chapter Fifty-Three: Silver, Secrets and Shadows
The elves were dancing now, twirling like windblown flowers in time to the melodies of harp, flute and violin that drifted through the air. Elrond I and Maglor moved to join them and were soon swept up in the dancers' midst.
Elrond I was first partnered with a petite, green-eyed elleth, as Maglor danced gracefully with a woman who was either naturally much taller than him, or was wearing incredibly lofty shoes. The half-elf soon noted his partner sneaking glances at another elf, when she thought he wasn't looking. The elleth's target was an elf-warrior named Haldir, who was Galadriel's Marchwarden.
Elrond I recalled Haldir from his past: the Marchwarden had perished bravely in a terrible battle in the human city of Helm's Deep, which had been under siege by ten thousand of Sauron's orcs. Haldir had not been married then; in this life, Haldir seemed to be courting the elleth Elrond I now had his arms around. The half-elf silently wished them both long, happy lives together.
A few minutes later, as the elleth twirled away, Elrond I found himself hand in hand with Galadriel, as the music poured leisurely and sweetly forth. He led her in an elegant waltz, and the golden-haired lady struck up a quiet conversation as they glided elegantly around the lawns of Caras Galadhon.
"Is all that I have heard true?" she asked her dance partner softly. "Is my cousin, Maglor, the new lord of Mithlond?"
Elrond I nodded, stealing a sidelong glance at the son of Fëanor, who was gaily weaving his way through the dancers some distance away. "He is; he was granted the title by King Gil-galad… Eru rest his soul," he added in a murmur.
Galadriel bowed her head in respectful acknowledgment. She looked up after a moment and asked carefully, "And the ring, Vilya… did Maglor inherit that as well?"
"Yes." The half-elf frowned abruptly as something sunk in. "You just called Maglor your cousin?"
Galadriel smiled. "I did; he is the son of my father's brother – the last of his bloodline, if what he told me is also accurate."
Elrond I nodded again, his insides wriggling in rekindled guilt. "It is. All of his brothers are slain, as well as Maglor's nephew, Celebrimbor."
The lady of Lothlórien was silent for a while, solemnly working over this knowledge. She and her daughter were Maglor's last living relatives, and indirect ones at that. Grave news indeed – too much so for a time such as this; she decided swiftly that a variation of topic would not be unwelcome.
"Your godson appears to have taken quite a liking to my daughter," she smiled benignly, looking nonchalantly around as Elrond I spun her. She nodded discreetly in the direction of Elrond II and Celebrían, both of whom seemed to be enjoying themselves completely as they danced together nearby.
Elrond I laughed. "She seems to like him just as well."
Galadriel nodded. She was silent for a while before speaking up again: "Could I perhaps speak privately with you sometime later?"
"Of course," Elrond I replied willingly. "I'd be happy to."
The lady of the wood smiled as the music quickened to a lively pace, and she was caught up by another dancer.
"Meet me by the fountain tonight at sunset," she called to the half-elf as she spun away.
"I won't be late," he promised.
----
As the sun crawled reluctantly down toward the western horizon, Elrond II walked side-by-side with Celebrían through the trees of the forest. The silver-haired maiden gazed up at the gold-tinged sunset sky that was barely visible between twining boughs, smiling at the young lord who was her escort.
"Your father's star will be rising soon," she commented. "I've watched him every night and every morning since he first appeared."
Elrond II nodded fondly. "So have I. I can't explain it, but sometimes I can just feel him watching me, shining his light upon the road I know I must walk." He sighed. "I thought I was so sure of where life would lead, but now I'm not so certain. Everything I thought I knew is changing; sometimes it's for the better, sometimes for the worse. There's no real black and white anymore… it's all grey, and grey can be anything. It can be nearly black, or nearly white, or silver…"
"Silver?" Celebrían echoed with a bright laugh. "That's part of my name. Mother always used to call me her 'little Silver Princess'… when I was a child, of course. Now she says I'm a Silver Queen."
"Silver Queen," the half-elf murmured. "It suits you. If we're exchanging names, mine is 'Star-Dome'. My parents loved Varda very much," he added, rather unnecessarily
"No wonder," Celebrían smiled. "They say the stars are Varda's children, and your father is one of them now… it's almost as if she's your grandmother, or something similar."
"Those are just my thoughts!" Elrond II cried. Then he laughed. "But I like 'aunt' better."
He glanced down suddenly at the sound of a soft crunch, and winced, noticing a flattened flower poking out from under his left shoe. He moved his foot quickly and tried to make the blossom stand erect, but its stem had snapped in many places, and its muddied petals drooped pitifully.
"I've killed it," he muttered dejectedly.
Celebrían moved to his side, gazing down at the flower as well. "Not many people would stop to try and fix something like that," she remarked. "Most would just leave it and walk on."
"I happen to like flowers a lot, thank you very much," Elrond II told her; there was a very good chance Vána might have been somewhere nearby, listening. But it was the truth, in any case. "And now I've gone and ruined one."
"Things don't have to be whole for them to be beautiful," said Celebrían quietly, looking calmly up at him. "Sometimes a thing that looks lovely when it's in one piece turns out to be even more attractive when it's broken."
The half-elf couldn't help but feel her gaze, when she spoke those cryptic words, passing right through him.
----
Shadows fell gently through the wood, cloaking the figure of Elrond I as he made his way to the fountain surrounded by softly glowing lamps. Galadriel was seated there, waiting for him; she nodded for him to sit beside her on the bench. She spoke to the half-elf as he did so.
"I have been waiting to tell you this for a long time now," she said quietly, gazing at him with total calm in her face and in her voice. "You need not be alarmed; your secret is safe with me."
Elrond I's first, instinctive reaction was denial. "Secret? What secret?"
"Come now, Master Elrond," Galadriel smiled warmly. "You know of what I speak."
Something in the woman's gaze drove him to continue. The half-elf spoke out with great caution. "You know who I really am, don't you?"
A single, silent nod was her reply. Elrond I stared deep into her face, murmuring into her mind. Who told you this?
I found it out for myself, she answered in the same way, and not entirely willingly.
He frowned, his eyebrows knitting in obvious disapproval. What did you do, barge into my head?
Inadvertently, perhaps. I stumbled onto some very intriguing thoughts, and was… drawn onward, so to speak. She smiled wryly. Your subconscious is extremely stubborn, did you know that?
He chose to ignore that observation. When did this happen?
Two days ago, Galadriel answered.
Elrond I's next words were even more cautious. What did you find out?
Not very much, but enough to pique my curiosity. I know that you and your godson are the same person in two bodies, sharing one soul; and I know that you possess the Valar's personal guardianship against evil. Other than that, not much is clear.
I'm not at all certain I would be permitted to disclose anything more, the half-elf told her. I think you know as much as you need to.
Galadriel nodded and smiled in a reassuring way as she replied, Not a word of this shall pass my lips, I promise you.
Elrond I smiled thankfully, but turned his head as he heard someone call out behind them. "Elrond?"
"Yes?" the half-elf replied, standing and facing the direction of the voice.
He smiled as Elwing emerged from the shadows into the lamplight, a relieved expression on her face. Elrond and Galadriel both rose to greet her in elven custom, and Elwing gave a nod to the lady of Lothlórien before moving to kiss her son on the cheek.
"My lady, you have the wrong elf," said Elrond I, just as her soft lips brushed his skin. "If you're looking for Elrond the Second, I think I saw him go up to bed a few minutes ago."
"Oh, yes." Elwing's cheeks flushed a vivid pink as she moved back. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry, but it's rather difficult to tell the two of you apart these days… he's grown to look so much like you, not to mention that your voices are exactly alike."
"Indeed," Elrond I smiled. "Strange coincidences, aren't they?"
"Well, you have been taking care of him for his entire life; it's not really surprising that he's adopted some of your, shall I say… attributes," Elwing laughed.
"Adopted my attributes?" Elrond I cried with a sudden snort of laughter. "My dear good woman, your son has 'adopted' my eyebrows!"
All three elves succumbed to fits of mirth at that point, and had to hold each other upright as the hilarity of that statement overwhelmed them.
Elwing brushed tears of merriment from her eyes as she gasped breathlessly to her son's elder half, "You know, I hadn't really noticed that before… your eyebrows, you say?"
Elrond I was now practically hiccupping with laughter. "How could you not have noticed it, after all these years?"
Galadriel was still a short distance from being her usual calm, cool, collected self, but she managed to suggest with not so much as an ounce less dignity, "Perhaps we should all get to bed before it gets too late." A thin crescent of moon was already quite high in the star-freckled sky.
"An excellent idea," Elrond I nodded. He turned casually to his mother, saying, "Shall we turn in?"
----
"That was far too close for my liking," Elrond I muttered to Elwing as they settled down on their treetop platform for the remainder of the night. "It was very clever of you to bluff your way out of kissing me like that. Interesting evasive tactics."
"I'm just surprised you didn't slip and call me 'Mother'." Elwing's smile was benevolent.
"So am I." Elrond I propped himself up on his elbow, gazing deep into his mother's eyes. "But just so you know, I did appreciate that kiss."
Elwing smiled quietly as she snuggled into her blankets and let her eyes cloud over. "Go to sleep, dear."
He tried his best to listen to her, but slumber seemed to be avoiding him like the plague. He glanced to his own left, meeting Elrond II's half-shut eyes. Elrond I, noticing that the younger elf was still awake, whispered two words into his counterpart's ears.
"She knows."
"What?" his godson hissed. "Who?"
"Lady Galadriel knows about us," the elder elf murmured. "She told me that she sort of… accidentally broke into our memories. She found out only a small amount, but then asked me to tell her the rest."
"Did you?" Elrond II whispered nervously.
"No… I wasn't sure if I should. Lord Mandos could have had something else in his mind, some other plan he'd heard from Eru. I thought it best not to meddle."
Elrond II gave a low whistle. "That makes four people, besides the Valar, who know who we really are."
"Three," Elrond I corrected him softly. "Only three people know now."
His godson nodded. "Yes. Of course."
----
Once the elf had fallen asleep, a silent, grey-clad figure materialized on the platform. His silvery hair glimmered in the moonlight as he knelt beside Elrond II and laid a hand upon his brow. He withdrew it a few moments later, having successfully planted and nourished the seed of a dream.
Lórien smiled lovingly down at his slumbering charge, whose eyes were wide and glazed, reflecting starlight. The Dream-lord, having finished his duty for the time being, rose and answered the call that whispered into his own mind… his elder brother's voice.
The Vala shed his body, gliding smoothly toward the source of the voice. He reappeared in a narrow dell in the wood, alongside the dark figure of Mandos. The Doomsman's face was pale and grim in the moonlight.
"What is it?" Lórien asked softly. "What is wrong?"
"Morgoth is now far nearer to Elrond than ever before," Mandos whispered urgently. "He has been defeated nine times now, and this has infuriated him. He knows his time for war is half-spent. Soon he shall choose to utilize his Element… and something else."
The Dream-lord shuddered; he well remembered the Element, in all of its subtle cunning. But what else could Morgoth be plotting? Námo had sounded much more concerned with 'something else'. What new methods of destruction could the Dark Lord concoct?
The Doomsman's reply to his silent queries was eerie and puzzling.
"Think of it thus, or think of it not. Heat is cold, and chill is hot. Opposites shall twist and turn; flame shall freeze and ice shall burn. Gifts shall come well into play, when darkness clashes with the day. One last game shall set the score, else we shall fail forevermore."