Chapter Sixty-Three: Of Bliss and Blackness
Elrond I sighed in complete content as he gazed up at the star-spangled sky from his seat far below, on a bench in the dusky gardens of Rivendell. No-one else was awake save for him, at least as far as he knew. Only the gentle night breeze and the chirruping of crickets serenaded him.
He couldn't seem to fall asleep, which was decidedly strange, because he had longed for a full nights' rest for three years now, and had only received the opportunity a few nights ago. Elladan and Elrohir had finally grown out of the waking-up-at-all-hours-of-the-night phase of childhood. The elder half-elf savored his moment of solitude in the dim stillness, smiling at the wind's sweet caress on his face.
"Good evening, Elrond."
Elrond turned, smiling as a tall, silver-and-grey figure materialized out of nowhere in the moonlight. The elf rose and bowed, replying, "Good evening, Lórien."
The Dream-lord laughed, and the sound echoed like falling droplets of silver rain. "May I join you?"
"Of course," Elrond I nodded, seating himself again and indicating that his friend should follow suit. Lórien sat calmly at his side, and the two of them quietly admired the night's shadowy splendor.
Elrond stared wonderingly up at the stars; Varda's progeny, the children of his aunt; they were his cousins. He couldn't keep back a muffled snigger at the suggestion. The Dream-lord glanced askance at him, asking, "May I ask what is so amusing?"
"Oh, nothing really," his companion replied. "I was just thinking about something Lady Varda told me a long time ago. She said my name, Star-dome, obviously meant the night sky, where her 'children', the stars, dwell. And since my father is one of those stars, Lady Varda said that I must related to her somehow, like a nephew. So that would technically make the other stars my cousins."
Lórien's laughter chimed out again. "Forgive my saying so, but that is rather humorous."
Their merriment mingled in the cool air, sweeping away on the slight breeze that wound and wove its way through the starlit valley. The Dream-lord was still smiling as he turned his own gaze upward to the gibbous moon. Another chuckle escaped him as he murmured to no-one apparent, "You're catching up, but she will never let you have her."
"Pardon, sir?" Elrond frowned, overhearing him.
"Oh, nothing really," Lórien said nonchalantly. "I was just thinking aloud, remembering Tilion. Have you ever heard the story of why his path is so irregular?"
"Yes, but I have a feeling I'm about to hear it again," the half-elf grinned. "Please go on."
"Well, as you know, the last fruit and flower of the Two Trees of Valinor were crafted by Aulë into two vessels, Anár and Isil – the Sun and the Moon. These were hallowed by Manwë and given light by Varda; it was then decreed that they should be carried through the sky by two of the Maiar, with each of the lights having its own time of 'domination', you might say.
"Arien was selected to steer the Sun, because she is fearless of its heat; but Tilion begged Manwë and Varda to be the one to convey the Moon, because of his endless adoration of Arien. So at last they relented, and Arien and Tilion rose into the sky one at a time. Arien was confident in her duty and sure of her path, and she guides the Sun accurately to this day. But Tilion was very uncertain, and he also desired desperately to be near Arien, who has rejected him time and again; she wishes to be always virgin and alone.
"Still Tilion pursued her, bringing the Moon often into her own period of dominance, the Day. That is why the Moon and the Sun are visible in the sky at the same time now and again. And when the Moon's shadow blots out the Sun in an eclipse, Tilion has come too close to Arien and blocked out her light. But he always suffers for his attempts; her fire is too much for him, and he is constantly burned."
"He must be heartbroken," Elrond I commented in quiet compassion. "To be denied over and over like that must be awful for him."
"I can imagine how it would affect him," the Dream-lord agreed. "But it seems neither he nor Arien can do a thing to alter that. They both have their assigned tasks to perform, as do we all."
The half-elf nodded. "And some of those tasks are much clearer than others."
Lórien discreetly averted his gaze a bit as he sighed, "I could not possibly agree with you more on that point."
----
Years passed. Some things changed, while others remained the same. Children grew up to be adults, and many of those adults stayed hale in the face of old age, while some did not. More children were born, not the least significant of which being Arwen, the daughter of Elrond II and Celebrían.
As Arwen blossomed into a lovely young maiden, it was proclaimed by nearly everyone that here was Lúthien Tinúviel returned to Arda. Arwen's wavy hair was not quite as dark as her father's, more resembling that of her grandmother Elwing, but her eyes were those of her mother. Arwen's brothers, however, were the image of their grandfather Eärendil – they both had the mariner's straight, midnight-black hair and silver-grey eyes.
Every time Elrond I watched those three young adults partaking in whatever activities, he was sorely reminded of how they had grown in his past. The twins had been inseparable (and were still!), and their sister had often accompanied them on various excursions and hunts in the wild. That much held true in these days. But the elder half-elf couldn't help but worry, deep down in his soul. Time was running short. Morgoth had already attacked him twelve times, and the Third Age was still only starting.
But what a start it had been! On the plus side: there was no Sauron to terrify the innocent, no fear of a rise to power after a long stretch of dormancy. Peace and order both had their places in the world, and alliances between the Free Peoples – elves, humans and dwarfs – were extremely strong, perhaps stronger than they ever had been.
The minus side of affairs was much more personal to Elrond: his nuptials had nearly been annihilated by a perverted kinsman, Morgoth's will was as powerful as ever, and with all of these changes to his life, the half-elf's security in his existence was crumbling just like weathered stone. He needed answers to the myriad questions careening around his mind.
----
"I am afraid that I cannot reveal much to you at this time," Mandos sighed with obvious regret. "You know as well as I do that Eru only allows me to reveal His plans at His own decree. I cannot simply disclose His greatest secrets at random to whomever I choose."
"Is there anything you can tell me right now?" Elrond I asked carefully. "I'd like to know about what happened with Halanor. You know that in my past life, Celebrían fell prey to orcs under the Misty Mountains, two and a half thousand years after our wedding. After I had healed her wounds as well as I could, she sailed to Valinor, and I didn't see her again until I too journeyed there, five hundred years later. Will that happen again?"
To his not-entirely-unpleasant surprise, the Doomsman smiled. "I am glad to say that the answer to that is a definite 'no'. There are no orcs or Uruk-hai in Arda anymore; thus the likelihood of such an event repeating itself is wholly nonexistent. Celebrían is completely safe. I shall not lay claim to her, nor you, nor your children."
The final sentence was lost to Elrond. He could barely hold himself in check as boundless bliss drenched him like sunlight. Celebrían was safe! The elf wanted to laugh, to weep in joy, to fling his arms around the bringer of those wonderful tidings. For dignity's sake, he managed to keep a bridle on his emotions as they boiled up in his heart, and he stood still. But a huge grin still found its way to his lips.
Mandos suddenly laughed; it was the first time Elrond had ever heard such a sound from him, and he was caught quite off-guard by the warm, hearty resonance. The Vala's dark-hued eyes beamed benevolence as he spoke in answer to the eager, inquiring voice within his friend's heart. "If you feel that you must do what you must, then I will not attempt to stop you."
The very next second, all of the air was squeezed from his lungs as Elrond I seized him in an embrace of pure elation. Tears of euphoria streamed down the elf's face as he sobbed out his thanks again and again. Mandos could do nothing but stand motionless, since his arms were being pinioned to his sides, but he managed to gather enough breath to speak.
"You are most welcome," he gasped, giving a rather strained smile. "But I would greatly appreciate it if I could have the full use of my lungs back, please."
Elrond I instantly blushed a bright scarlet, letting the Doomsman go and stepping back to give him room to breathe. They both took a moment to compose themselves, with Elrond I wiping his face while Mandos gingerly massaged his aching ribs. Nothing seemed to be broken, but he decided it would be wise to visit Estë for a second opinion.
"Well," said the Vala, secretly feeling atypically discomfited, even though he effectively masked the emotion with a casual smile, "that went… quite well."
"Indeed," Elrond agreed, replacing his handkerchief in his pocket. "Indeed it did."
They stood in an awkward silence for a few moments, until the ringing of a bell signaled that the evening meal was ready. The half-elf bowed to his companion, asking, "Will you join me for dinner?"
"It would be my pleasure to."
----
Arwen couldn't help but smile whenever she thought of her father's godfather. He was in the most unusual moods lately. She had heard him humming happily to himself as he had approached the dining hall for dinner, and later on he had met Elrond II with a very tight hug. The lord of Imladris had clearly contracted Elrond I's contagious high spirits, for he could often be seen practically skipping along the corridors, a gleeful grin pasted onto his features.
The daughter of Elrond now paced the sunlit halls of her father's haven, breathing deeply as the scent of lavender flooded her nostrils. Elrond I had once told her that the smell of lavender was associated with Estë, the Valië whose specialty was rest and healing. Arwen had once asked him how he knew that, and the half-elf had merely smiled and replied that he'd heard stories from some who had seen her.
The young maid had accepted that, back then being none the wiser to the truth. But much later on, she had overheard her father and his godfather talking about nothing other than a meeting with the Valar! She definitely remembered hearing the names Mandos, Lórien, Varda, Manwë, Aulë and Oromë; and there may have been others. But just that alone was enough to pique the elleth's suspicions to the breaking-point.
Arwen had confronted the two of them later that day, and to her not-very-great surprise, due to the information she already had, she had found out that Elrond I and II were in fact on very good terms with all fourteen Valar. Her father had made her promise never to tell another living soul of that; she had made her pledge sincerely. No matter how much her brothers had pestered her for information, Arwen's lips had remained tightly sealed, and the twins soon forgot the whole thing. All the better for those whose secret it really was.
----
Lórien moved imperceptibly through Imladris' corridors, the sense of his immaterial eyes strong in the half-light of sundown. Normally at this time of night he would be elsewhere, distributing dreams to sleepers, but tonight he was hearkening to his brother's summons. Mandos had interrupted the Dream-lord's duty – he had to have a very good reason.
I am here, Irmo.
Lórien halted at the sound of his brother's voice from before him. He discerned Mandos' incorporeal spirit hovering a few feet in front of him, and also a few feet above the floor. The Doomsman's countenance was grave and foreboding.
Why have you called me away from my duties, Námo? the Dream-lord asked.
You have another task to perform tonight. I have told you of it before.
Lórien's insubstantial heart quivered in the area where his chest would have been. Yes, I remember… you wish for me to manufacture nightmares, and other such things that are far beyond my area of expertise – and pleasure, for that matter, he added with a clearly audible note of bitterness.
Mandos' head would have nodded, if he had had one at that point. So you know what is expected of you.
Well enough. Should I be aware of any specific details to include in these new visions of horror?
No, replied the Doomsman. Just try to summon up the most frightening concepts and images that you can, to begin with. It will become easier from there.
Oh, it will, will it? Lórien snarled, dredging up every drop of sarcasm he could muster, and letting all of it saturate his mental voice. I'd better get a good start on it, then. Good evening.
----
Elrond I sat up slowly in his bed as Lórien entered in a smoke-grey flurry, standing at the elf's bedside in unusual silence. His face, normally so benevolent, was now impassive; he resembled Mandos more than anyone else.
"Is something wrong?" Elrond inquired, wary of each word.
The Vala's response, a vague echo of his brother's words, was brief and noticeably terse. "My task begins tonight. Lie down."
Elrond I obeyed without query, noting, with a stab of worry, the strange ice in his friend's eyes. He had to repress an obvious shudder as the Dream-lord sat silently on the chair by his bedside. Lórien took no notice, however, and drew a deep breath to relax himself. But the elf saw the Vala's fingers tense and curl into a tight fist, and his stomach gave a lurch of trepidation.
Lórien closed his eyes, refusing to allow his fears to show. This was not like anything he had ever attempted before. He delved deep into the darkest recesses of all the Ages of the world: the time of the Sun, the years of the Trees, and back even further. He gathered up memories of fear like a young child might collect eye-catching stones, or colorful autumn leaves. But the Vala's mind was far from being contented.
No, this was the very last thing he wanted to be doing right now. He wouldn't wish such a terrible obligation upon his worst enemy. This went against everything he had done for the past hundreds of thousands of years… everything that he knew to be right. How could Námo do this to him, Lórien, his own brother?
But there was no time to dwell on that. He had a job to do, however terrible it was.
The Vala drew another deep breath, and held it for an interminable instant before letting go, and lowering his hand deliberately to Elrond's brow.
No power on the earth could have readied him for what happened next.
Instead of only the visions entering the elf's mind, Lórien's essence in all its entirety was drawn away from his body, channeled through his fingers, and shunted through Elrond's skull, into the mind within the physical brain. The Vala could only give voice to a single, desperate scream, and it was a scream whose pitch keened even to heights beyond human or elven hearing. The pain was unbearable, the blackness squeezing and compressing his spirit as it pulled him on to whatever destination.
Lórien's lifeless body slumped forward in his chair; his lungs were stilled and his heart silent. His right hand was still upon Elrond I's forehead, and beneath his cold fingers, the sleeping elf was now beginning to jerk and twitch, caught fast in the iron grip of a dream that the silver-haired Vala had never created.
Someone else had seized the ideal instant. It had been only too tempting…