Chapter Sixty-Six: Flames New and Old
Three hundred and ninety years… that was how long it had been since Morgoth's assault on Elrond's mind; a hundred and one since Elrond I had found out that Arwen would not be mortal. A hundred years had passed by since Arwen and Voronwë had begun courting. And now, in the year 2427 of the Third Age, Elrond II was on the threshold of becoming a father-in-law.
The younger half-elf walked slowly down a grassy walkway bordered by vibrant flowers, with his daughter on his arm, and his wife on Arwen's other side. He nodded courteously to Voronwë's mother and father – two golden-haired elves named, respectively, Laurëlas and Cilithon – as he passed them. King Thranduil of Greenwood waited patiently at the front of the aisle, ready to act as minister for the bride and groom. Voronwë stood beside a cluster of groomsmen, with a vacant space on his left side for Arwen to take up. Elladan and Elrohir stood side-by-side, acting jointly as ring-bearers.
Thranduil's voice then rang out to fill the eager ears of the assembly, a multitude of elves called together from the realms of Rivendell, Lothlórien, Greenwood and Mithlond alike. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…"
Elrond II could barely focus on the King's words. His mind was abuzz with a jumble of thoughts: his daughter was getting married, she would never yield to death, and according to Elrond I, if Mandos' words rang true, as they always had before, she would sooner or later travel to Valinor. Things had never looked brighter.
Then the elven-king's words sliced neatly through his contemplations like a heated knife through butter. "Who has the honor of presenting this woman to be married to this man?"
"We do," the younger half-elf spoke up together with Celebrían, as he returned swiftly to the present.
Thranduil nodded, and began to carry out the same wedding rites that Manwë had years before. He took Arwen and Voronwë's hands into his own and joined them together as he gave a meaningful speech, and afterwards came the lighting of the Unity candles. At long last, the newly-announced husband and wife sealed their everlasting love with a deep and passionate kiss. Elrond I and II applauded perhaps harder than anyone else.
The festivities lasted for days on end – much longer than those of Elrond II and Celebrían had, the elder half-elf recalled with a shiver. But he shunted the memory out of his mind; there was no reason to dwell upon that anymore. And when the time came at last for all the guests to take their leave, Elrond II and his wife bade their daughter a long and loving farewell.
"Promise me you'll visit," Arwen's mother murmured, stroking the new bride's dark hair as it mingled with her own pale silver locks when they embraced.
"Of course I will," she vowed, as a single bittersweet tear slipped down her face.
"Take care of yourself," Elladan advised her solemnly. Then he gave an impish grin. "It's going to be a whole lot quieter at home without you, you know."
"You and Elrohir are much more than able to compensate for that," his sister teased light-heartedly. "Take care of each other."
Both twins nodded, gasping suddenly as their sibling pulled them into a tight embrace. "I can hardly wait to see what kind of uncles the two of you will turn out to be."
Elrond I grinned obliquely at his younger counterpart. "What do you think of that? Could you handle being a grandfather?"
"I'll cross that bridge once I reach it, and not a second before," Elrond II smiled in reply.
----
"That bridge" came into sight nine short years later, when a message from Arwen arrived in Imladris – she was two months pregnant with her first child. The embryo's gender was indeterminate at the moment, but it seemed to be perfectly healthy. And both of the lucky parents-to-be were doing extremely well.
Seven months and a few weeks later, joyous news spread that Arwen had given birth to a happy and healthy baby girl, christened Caranel the Second in fond memory of Elrond I's dear friend. The baby's vivid, fire-colored hair and bright blue eyes, naturally, resembled those of her namesake. Elrond I was forced to engage in a fierce wrestling match with his emotions when he reached that particular statement in the letter he received.
I wonder if her personality will be at all like her namesake's, the half-elf thought, sweetly reflecting on the first Caranel. His new granddaughter would surely not be a maidservant, he reasoned, but she might be an exceptional baker. Elrond I pondered this as he prepared to ride to Greenwood with a small group of his kin, for the revelry that would soon begin there.
Elrond II was in a noticeably different state of mind. He'd just become a grandfather, for Eru's sake! He didn't know if he was ready for it at all. What if, what if… That abhorrent pair of words, the phrase that was the murderer of all confidence, buzzed around his mind like an angry wasp – no, make that a swarm of angry wasps.
"I'm sure you'll be just fine," Elwing reassured her son as they rode down a path that was piled high with drifts of sparkling midwinter snow. "Grandparenting is just like parenting all over again. Trust me, I should know."
The younger elf smirked. "You just made up a word, you know. There's no such word as grandparenting."
"Oh, I know," his mother replied airily. "But if you really think about it, all of the words we use regularly were ultimately made up by someone."
"Good point," Elrond II nodded acceptingly as he nudged his horse onward. "Very good point."
----
Greenwood (or Whitewood, as some jokingly referred to the now snow-laden forest) was packed with excited elves when the group from Rivendell arrived and entered the stony halls that were Thranduil's stronghold. The first elf to greet them at the entrance was the King himself, followed promptly by his son, Prince Legolas. Soon after came Voronwë alongside of Arwen (who, Elrond noticed, had not yet lost all of her baby-fat). In the dark-haired woman's arms was nestled a tiny, redheaded infant girl, who took in the band of guests with wide, excited eyes. A pleased gurgle escaped little Caranel's lips as Arwen handed the child carefully to her grandfather.
Elrond II beamed with joy as he took the little elleth tenderly into his arms. A diminutive hand reached up and swatted a braid of the elf-lord's hair; he laughed quietly as the small fingers tightened on the fine, dark strands and tugged. Caranel II squealed in sheer delight as her grandfather gently tickled her little feet.
The younger half-elf then passed the baby gently to his godfather, who took the wiggling, cooing bundle with slightly unsteady hands. Here he was, staring into a face that was like his dear, long-lost friend born again… Tears of bittersweet reminiscence itched irately at his eyes in a mad scramble for freedom.
"Are you all right, Elrond?" his mother murmured discreetly into his ear.
He nodded once, forcing back his emotions. "I'm fine."
He handed the newborn carefully to Elwing as he spoke, and right on time. An abrupt and powerful tremor wracked his body; the half-elf staggered backwards a little as he swayed and overbalanced, accidentally stepping on the foot of his chief advisor, Erestor. He made a sincere – if hasty – apology, promptly excused himself and darted away, as far from the start of the festivities as he dared. He had a very secret battle to fight.
----
Sinking to his knees in a pool of slush and water, Elrond I ignored the sopping-wet skirts of his robe as they were steeped in the dirty liquid. His body shook in the aftermath of his old enemy's latest attack. He climbed slowly to his feet, his heavy breaths forming clouds of mist about his lips.
The sun sparkled carelessly upon the snow surrounding him, and glinted on the rippling surface of the growing puddle he stood in. His boots were saturated with water; though he couldn't feel the cold, the half-elf was still uncomfortable as he made his way cautiously back to the halls of Greenwood's king, following his own footsteps back the way he had come.
But after no more than a pace or two, he was forced to bend double; his stomach lurched, and he retched painfully onto the ground to one side of the rough path. Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief he drew from his pocket, Elrond I carefully kicked some loose snow over his mess and walked on past, wondering dimly why in Arda he was suddenly so ill. Morgoth, for all of his dark powers, had never before stooped to doing anything as crude as invoking queasiness. And there had been something else as well… a vision, so brief he had almost missed it completely…
"Ada?"
Elrond I turned toward the voice, sighing and smiling as Arwen rounded a bend and came hurriedly towards him. Her face was alight with concern as she inquired, "What have you been doing? You're soaking wet!"
The elder half-elf glanced suspiciously this way and that before answering in a low voice, "It was him, Arwen."
The young mother's eyes widened, for she knew exactly what his words meant. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Elrond reassured her. "I managed to hold him off… for now."
----
But the fight and its aftermath were soon blissfully over and done, as all of the elves now present in Greenwood reveled in the elation of the new birth. Friends from all four elven realms reunited again, and good cheer abounded. Feasting, dancing, reminiscing with old friends and (rarely) resting by turns, every soul was caught up in the positively infectious gladness of the occasion.
For the next several days, nearly all anyone spoke about was little Caranel. Elrond I and II were as cheerful as any others, all fears eagerly cast into the misty sea of forgetfulness. The two elves (or so almost everyone else saw them) laughed and joked readily, and no-one was any the wiser (thanks be to the Valar).
But as time soared on, and the celebrations wound down, a minuscule doubt poked up its nose and sniffed at the air. It was a very little worry, but it grew incredibly quickly, and it was lodged deep within the heart of Elrond I. Soon, the doubt's confines would prove too small and fragile to cage it. It wanted to get out, to be free to infect the body that the heart belonged to. And it swiftly succeeded.
Elrond I fidgeted fretfully with his handkerchief, twisting and untwisting the rather damp cloth in his sweaty hands. He sat in his nightclothes, on the edge of his bed, unable or just unwilling to attempt sleep. The doubt in him had swelled to mammoth size, and the elder half-elf wondered how on earth he could have forgotten it. He needed someone to talk to, someone who would tell him exactly what he needed to know, however straightforward. He didn't much care for niceties at the moment. All he wanted was the truth.
You need only ask, said Mandos' voice, as the Doomsman swirled ceremoniously into visibility. He held out a hand to hinder Elrond's rise and bow, and the Vala himself sat at his kinsman's side to speak, out loud, but softly.
"You are troubled by the vision you experienced during Morgoth's attack," said Mandos, as if Elrond didn't already know it himself. "I know that you saw the elf called Halanor, and I know the reason why."
"Please tell me," Elrond I nearly begged. "You can do that, can't you?"
The Doomsman paused for a moment before he spoke again. "I can say only that you will meet with him again, a great deal sooner than you think."
"How can that ever be, unless I die?" Elrond wondered aloud. "Halanor is long gone; you claimed his soul centuries – millennia ago."
Silence.
"Didn't you?" the elf went on, adding a measure of urgent force to his voice to shroud his obvious fear.
Whether by his own choice or by some secret command, Mandos did not answer him.
----
"Look at me, Uncle Dan!" squealed a six-year-old Caranel II, from her precarious perch on the railing of Rivendell's main bridge. She balanced awkwardly on one foot, her arms outstretched for steadiness. Her pale green dress billowed out in the warm autumn breeze, threatening to topple the young elleth into the clear, glimmering water several feet below.
"Caranel the Second, get down from there right now! You could fall!" Elladan cried up to her, from where he swam in the river beneath her. "And you don't know how to swim!"
"I'm not gonna fall!" the child replied cheerily, hopping onto her other foot and wobbling dangerously. "See? I'm okay!"
"Your Nana wouldn't want you to be up on top of there, you know," said a matter-of-fact voice from a little ways above Caranel's head. "Listen to Uncle Dan, sweetling."
The girl pouted up at her father, protesting, "I wasn't gonna fall!"
"I know, but you should still listen to your uncle like you do for your Nana and I," replied Voronwë patiently. "Come on down. I'll help you."
Caranel's little shoulders slumped as she hung her fire-haired head. "O- kay."
The golden-haired elf lifted his daughter carefully down from the railing, smiling to cheer her up. He sniffed the air approvingly and remarked, "I think I smell our dinner cooking. Let's go and see if the cooks need any help making dessert, all right? I hear they want to make some of those honey-glazed muffins that your great-uncle Elrond enjoys so much," he said, referring to Elrond I.
The elleth's glum demeanor brightened up considerably at these words. "Okay!"
Voronwë laughed as he followed his eager young daughter into the haven. "Don't get too far ahead!"
"Hurry up, Ada!"
----
Time, thought Elrond I as he trod the sun-drenched corridors of Imladris, is without doubt one of the strangest things in the world. Swift or slow, it is only whatever it chooses to be. It can be a benefit and a hindrance both, depending on its mood. And yet, unfailingly, it is always there.
Indeed, Time had been, and it was, and it would be. Seconds, minutes, hours; days, weeks and months… Years, decades and centuries passed with the rising and falling of the Sun and Moon, preserved in never-fading thread by Vairë's skillful hands. Those tapestries… all, it seemed, that was keeping Elrond alive.
Yes, the elf had inevitably grown very close to the Weaver throughout this lifetime. Even despite the fact that she was virtually his sister-in-law, the Valië was also his savior from whatever fate would await him if he should fade. He could ask no more of her.