Chapter Fifty-Seven: Hearts Entwining, Souls Unraveling

Before Celebrían could blink, Elrond II kissed her lightly upon the cheek and leapt away, calling gleefully, "Catch me if you can!"

The maiden readily accepted the lighthearted challenge, and hurried after the half-elf. She caught up to him, returned his gesture and darted ahead herself. The two led each other in a merry dance through the moonlit garden, exchanging kisses and laughter, observed only by the stars and moon above… or so they thought.

A single, furtive pair of loathing and lusting grey eyes was also watching from a window nearby.

----

It took another week for Maglor to reach Imladris. Celeborn and Galadriel had insisted on remaining for that length of time, so much the better for Elrond I's plans. But Elrond I, Maglor and Galadriel had yet again fallen prey to the strange fainting spells, much to the anxiety of their companions. The three Ring-keepers gathered, along with Celeborn and Elrond II, in Elrond I's bedroom, which it seemed had become the ideal site for meetings, with a round table and five chairs set up.

Elrond I shifted uneasily in his seat, refusing to meet anyone's eye. Of the four comrades in the chamber, only one, besides the half-elf himself, knew the secret identities of Elrond I and II. Elrond I didn't know if Galadriel had told her husband about him yet; he hoped she hadn't. And he hadn't even told Maglor, who had been his friend for the longest time.

The elder half-elf suddenly gave a violent shudder, which was more like a convulsion. He gripped his godson's hand tightly under the table, receiving a gentle squeeze in reply. But a glance into Elrond II's eyes gave him no ease. Something extremely bad was imminent; they both knew it.

Elrond I looked to Galadriel just in time to notice her shudder also, every bit as forcefully as he had been. Then they both glanced at Maglor, whose hands were clenched doggedly upon the ends of the arms of his chair. His knuckles were remarkably white, and the noise of his grinding teeth was clearly audible in the substantial silence. No-one had yet spoken a word in all this time.

Galadriel cautiously sent a thought into Elrond I's mind: If you have any inkling of what is going on, tell me what to do.

He slid his left hand slowly toward hers, clasping Elrond II's in his right. Take both my hand and Maglor's. Maybe we can fight this off if the three of us work together.

She complied without a word (telepathic or otherwise), and not a moment too soon. There came a massive heave of blackness, the greatest that they had experienced so far. But this time they were ready; they would combat it and refuse to surrender.

Resist this with all of your strength, Elrond I ordered his comrades. Shun the shadows and embrace the Light. Do not stop until it has passed us. Fight!

A strange, silent battle ensued as the Ring-keepers strove to vanquish the darkness within themselves. Narya, Nenya and Vilya shone steadily with scarlet, ivory and cerulean light, and Elrond, Galadriel and Maglor struggled to stay conscious and keep fighting. The only one not joining the conflict was Celeborn, who looked on helplessly, knowing that he was powerless to help or hinder anyone.

Elrond I called on the power of Fire to defeat the blackness. The flames would give him a light to banish the evil. Recalling all of Aulë's teachings, he drew up the fire and allowed it to blaze throughout his entire being, flooding him with radiance and heat, scorching the fingers of the one who was trying to crush him, and forcing that one to let go.

Galadriel summoned the might of all the Waters of Ulmo to help her. Rivers and streams of energy tumbled down in reply to her call; fountains sprang up to perform her bidding, and oceans sent out unending waves. She would drown the darkness, and rinse every last remnant of its being from her.

Maglor was still a novice in regards to the use of his own ring; he knew of its power, but had never before attempted to make use of it. Now he falteringly beseeched the force of the Winds, pleading with them to rage through him and drive away the shadow. He soon received a response; every progeny of Manwë, from breezes up to gales, seemed to storm into his soul, thrusting the blackness out and away, and setting him free.

The three comrades all slumped backward in their seats, their eyes closed, breathing hard. Celeborn leaned over his wife in trepidation while Elrond II ministered to his elder half. The younger elf laid a hand upon Elrond I's febrile forehead, and let a small, carefully-measured dose of icy energy escape him. The elder half-elf sighed, his tense body slowly relaxing as his temperature dropped back to a safe, normal level. He opened his eyes and smiled weakly as he sat up.

Elrond II exhaled heavily in relief, turning to his friends. "Is everyone else all right?"

There was a general mutter of assent from the others, who were all sitting up by this time. Elrond I glanced down at Narya; its ruby was no longer ablaze with light, nor were any of the other rings' jewels. The elf sighed. "Well… well done, everyone."

Indeed, whispered Mandos' voice in his mind, well done.

Elrond I gave a small smile, but Celeborn's voice soon broke through his thoughts. "But what was that?"

"Wouldn't we all like to know," said Maglor, glancing perceptibly in Elrond's direction. The others followed his gaze, and Elrond I swallowed nervously. His voice was halting at first, but it soon grew firmer as he continued to speak.

"That, my friends, was what is known as the Morgoth Element," the half-elf explained. "Morgoth's power is distributed throughout the world, concentrated in certain substances, including gold. Our Rings are connected to this Element, and it appears that Morgoth was attempting to assail us through this. I don't know why, but I do know he won't be beaten back again with any great ease. He will try to attack us again, you can be sure."

"And how are we supposed to resist him a second time if he does come back?" demanded Maglor. "It was all well and good that we were together now, but it isn't like we all don't have homes to return to."

"We'll manage," Elrond I reassured him. "As long as we keep concentrating upon ridding ourselves of this evil, we can hold him at bay."

But something else soon began gnawing at his mind. Almost wincing in physical pain, he turned his gaze to his godson and spoke in a mental whisper: I need to speak with you alone, as soon as possible. This means more than I first thought, and nothing about it is good.

----

'As soon as possible' turned out to be no more than five minutes after the attack upon the Ring-keepers. Elrond II hurried into his godfather's bedchamber, where Elrond I shut and locked the door behind him as he entered. The elder elf's face was pale and frightened.

"What's wrong?" Elrond II asked, alarmed.

"Everything," his other half answered tremulously, sinking down onto his bed. "The one thing I've been dreading since the beginning is happening right now. It's already started."

"What is it?"

Elrond I beckoned himself closer, and Elrond II perched uneasily beside his elder half on the bed. The older of the two recollected memories that were Ages old, relating them in a halting voice.

"The day after you were born, I had a conversation with Lord Mandos about you and I. He told me that if we ever strayed more than five miles apart from each other, something disastrous would happen."

"But we're not five miles apart, we're five inches apart! Why are you worried?" Elrond II cried.

"Because," Elrond I whispered urgently, "that notion is being put into play as we speak. I knew something was wrong far before today, but only now have I figured it out. It started years ago. We're the same person, but we have slightly different personalities, and we're changing all the time. We haven't recently had to put much effort into convincing others that we're different people, because… we're actually becoming different people. Our soul is splitting in half. We're growing apart. Morgoth is winning – this is what he wanted all along."

Elrond II's eyes were wide and horrified. "What does that mean? What should we do?"

"I don't know, Elrond," his godfather moaned dejectedly. "This is beyond me. The least I can suggest is that we stay as close as we can to each other, at all times. But I think others will have to take care of this for us. Take Lady Vairë, for instance – her tapestries are all that's holding us together. I think from now on, it all comes down to her. Our life is in her hands… most literally."

----

The next few days crawled past with all the haste of lame turtles, which did nothing more than heighten Elrond's anxiety. Celeborn and Galadriel prepared to depart Rivendell with their daughter, and Maglor reluctantly agreed with them. He rode out westward, while the others left on a more southerly path.

Elrond II sighed to himself as he watched them go. His heart was writhing in a personal, bittersweet fight, in which the sweetness eventually emerged victorious. The half-elf had kept the few, fine strands of hair that were Celebrían's gift; they were currently twined in with the raven tresses of his own hair. Silver flashed brightly against ebony whenever he moved his head.

Elrond I came quietly up behind his godson, laying a hand on his shoulder, and smiling as the younger elf turned to face him.

"You'll see her again," Elrond I assured himself. "It's not as though she'll have forgotten all about you by tomorrow."

"That's not all I'm worried about," Elrond II muttered. "I'm worried about what you said, about us becoming two different elves. What if Morgoth does succeed? What will happen then? What if Lady Vairë can't help us?"

"Then we will fade from the very design of the world," Elrond I replied softly. "It will be like we never existed. Life will just go on without us. Things will change, perhaps for the worse. I don't know."

"But where will we go?" Elrond II wondered out loud. "Where will our spirit flee? To the Halls of Mandos, or somewhere else? Or will we just dissipate into nothing at all?"

"You're asking the wrong person," his godfather lamented. "And think about this: do you really wish to know the answers to your questions? What good would they do you in the long run? Would it matter, really, in the end? Would it affect anyone else?"

But he halted when he realized what he was saying. It would matter; it would affect many others. If Elrond II didn't live to marry Celebrían, he would never be the father of the one woman who would be like Lúthien Tinúviel reincarnated; that woman would never marry an exiled King, and a bereft kingdom would never be restored to glory.

Or would it?

Elrond I's mind reeled with memories of things that had occurred and were yet to happen, and some that had not occurred at all. In his previous life, Elrond's only daughter, Arwen, had wed Aragorn Elessar, the ranger-turned-King of Gondor. But there had been another woman who had had her heart set on marrying Aragorn: Éowyn the Shieldmaiden, niece of King Théoden of Rohan. Perhaps she would be the new Queen of Gondor. It was quite a plausible notion.

"Maybe we should forget about this for now," Elrond II interrupted his thoughts. "There is obviously little we can do for ourselves at the moment."

Elrond I nodded. "You're absolutely right. We can't do anything for ourselves, but I hope someone else has all of this under control."

----

The days turned to weeks, and weeks became months and years. Life went on relatively normally, with Elrond II courting Celebrían and overseeing his haven, and both halves of the elf resuming their sessions with Aulë and Oromë (these had been delayed temporarily because of the arrival of Galadriel and her kindred).

Elrond II and the Huntsman stepped up their training slightly, progressing to using their own spears, and Elrond I startled both himself and the Smith one evening by setting fire to a quite thick oak bough almost the moment he touched it. Aulë graciously lent the half-elf a pair of thick gloves similar in make to his own, but slightly smaller. He also advised Elrond I not to wear white during these lessons anymore. The elf agreed, laughing.

But Elrond I had something else on his mind. He had been thinking about the future he might or might not have (for the sake of his worries, he hoped that he would), and a great many things were irking him.

"Lord Mandos," he said as he warily approached the Doomsman one cool spring night, "I have been wondering about something for quite a while – a lot of things, in fact. The first one is my future son-in-law. Naturally you'll know all about how he met my daughter in my previous life, but how is that going to happen this time?

"There are no more orcs that could possibly kill Aragorn's father and cause his mother to bring him to Imladris, where I would adopt him as my own son – which is actually quite bizarre, now that I come to think of it, the notion of turning my daughter's future husband into her brother. Will the line of Kings even be broken at all? What about Narsil?"

The legendary Sword-that-was-Broken now resided in Rivendell, its shards laid carefully in a well-guarded glass case. Elrond I had often stood and gazed at it for hours at a time, wondering what the future of the Third Age of Middle-earth might hold. Who would be the blade's next wielder? Or would it even have one?

But Mandos' answering voice cleft his ruminations neatly in two.

"I am afraid I cannot reveal any large amount of information to you. All I am permitted to tell you is that while numerous aspects of your life will be a great deal more arduous and complex than they once were, a few will be extremely simple, and most beneficial to you. Your contemplations about the absence of orcs and Uruk-hai shall prove to be a weighty exception, however."

"What do you mean, sire?" Elrond I frowned, nonplussed.

The Vala's deep sapphire eyes were penitent. "I can say no more."