Chapter Sixty-Eight: Take and Give
The greatest shock since the near-drowning of Elrond I and Voronwë came a few months later, in the form of somber words from the mouth of the Doomsman. For no immediately apparent reason, it appeared that Galadriel and Maglor had both fallen asleep serenely the previous evening, yet neither of them had awoken in the morning. It seemed their spirits had departed their bodies completely.
It was a total mystery. The bodies – Elrond shuddered even to think that word – were not moved, and it was made known to the better part of the elves of Lothlórien and Mithlond that the Lord and Lady were no more than indisposed – which was of course a blatant lie. But nothing else could give even a ghost of an explanation.
"How could this have happened?" the elder half-elf cried in disbelief.
"I promise you, I had nothing to do with this," Mandos replied solemnly.
No further words were needed to conform Elrond's fears. "Morgoth."
"We must hold a council," said the Vala sternly. "Go to your room."
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Moments later, seven Valar, seven Valier and two halves of the same elf were gathered in their habitual council room, all of them talking heatedly among themselves. At Manwë's call for silence, their hush fell like a thick, stifling blanket, covering the room.
"The time has come," said Mandos, meeting the eyes of everyone in the chamber in turn. "I have had foreknowledge of this hour for uncounted Ages. This is the day of Morgoth's final assault upon us. His servants are harkening to his summons and are gathering to him even now in the Outer Void."
Elrond II stood stone-still, and then wondered why he was. He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to be terrified or angry. A hot, sick mixture of both boiled deep down in the pit of his stomach, eating steadily away at his insides like acid.
Unnoticed by most of the others, he sneaked backward, to the far wall of the room and to his godfather's weaponry cabinet, opening it without a sound and glancing around inside. He received a slight surprise as what he was looking for, which he hadn't really expected to be there, was level with his eyes. It was Aiglos.
The spear seemed almost to quiver in his grasp as the young half-elf took it down from its hooks, and he heard the familiar voice whisper in his mind. I have sensed it. My time is near at hand…your hand.
Elrond II nodded silently, looking up sharply as the Doomsman's voice cut into his head with an almost painful resolve. The Vala himself was striding forward, his eyes glinting a strange, indifferent grey.
"What do you suggest we do, Elrond?" Mandos demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously as he read the half-elf's thoughts like a book. "He is beyond your reach, a prisoner of the infinite emptiness beyond the Walls of the World."
Elrond II's eyes were frosty and grave as he replied. "Then we'll go there, we'll find him, and I'll kill him."
NO.
The Voice came from the middle of the cluster of comrades – or at least seemed to. It was a Voice that drained all strength from the elf's limbs and rendered him prostrate on the floor, his body quaking. He could barely lift his head to see what was going on; on either side of him, and all around him, the Valar were all doing exactly the same as he was. But they were bowing.
The Voice spoke again, now accompanied by a great, but gentle Presence. This Presence undoubtedly held ultimate authority, and a fatherly tone was evident as well. Eru spoke to the half-elf alone.
IT IS NOT YOUR TASK TO SLAY MELKOR. IN DUE COURSE, YOUR EFFORTS WILL AID THE ONE WHO WILL. BUT THIS IS NOT THE DAY OF THAT WAR. IT IS ONLY THE PREFACE TO SOMETHING THAT WILL BE FAR GREATER, AND A THOUSAND TIMES AS TERRIBLE.
Elrond II forced his cowering thoughts to cohere. Yes, I understand.
The Presence of Eru seemed to shift in focus, and Elrond II felt Vána tremble at his side. He moved his right hand slightly closer to her left arm, his fingertips just lightly touching her. She did not move until it appeared that Eru had spoken His piece to her as well, and moved on.
One by one Eru convened with each of the other Valar, who either remained stock-still or nodded mutely in response to whatever He was saying. Some of them, Elrond II noticed, appeared far more shaken than others. But at last, after what seemed an Age, the Presence faded. The company breathed again, and there was no-one who did not stagger or sway as they climbed to their feet – even the steadfast Tulkas. But Mandos was the first person to speak into the fathomless silence.
"We know our duties," he said softly. "Some are graver than others; all are crucial. Some of them can be revealed now; others cannot." He passed a significant glance to Aulë, who nodded once, and snapped his gloved fingers.
Three boxes became visible in his hands: two were the same size, large and cumbersome, and the third was long and narrow. The Smith handed the much larger packages to Elrond I and II, and kept the third for the time being.
Two halves of one elf opened their boxes at the same time; two startled gasps issued from two pairs of slightly parted lips. Their gifts were breastplates, shaped completely of pure, gleaming, silver-hued mithril – it was the hardest metal known to any being of Arda, yet unbelievably light. As Elrond just stared, stunned into silence, Aulë smiled benevolently at him. "Put them on."
The elf wordlessly did as he was asked, each half of him aiding the other in donning the armor over their own clothing. They stood side-by-side, and it looked as though only one of them were simply standing next to a mirror. Mandos nodded once, satisfied, and sent a thought out to someone not present in the room.
Elwing, he murmured, come to Elrond the First's bedchamber immediately. It is vital that you attend here a matter of dire urgency.
It took a few minutes, but soon enough, the door burst open to admit a breathless Elwing, who fell to her knees (whether in reverence or exhaustion) even before entering the room. The Doomsman strode briskly to her side and helped her upright; she leaned gratefully on his shoulder as he led her forward to stand with the others.
"What is this urgent matter, my lord?" Elwing asked Mandos anxiously.
"You have the task of participating in what we here have gathered to prepare for," replied the Vala solemnly. "A battle is soon to commence beyond the Walls of the World, and it is the verdict of Eru that you shall take part in it, under the guise of another who will have a different, secret and vital duty directly involving your son."
"Who?" The word tumbled unbidden from Elwing's tongue.
"Me," Vairë answered, stepping forward. Her golden eyes glimmered mysteriously in the torchlight as she turned her head toward Elrond II. The half-elf inclined his own head in respect, but could sense something unsettlingly peculiar in her gaze.
He stood quite still as she moved gracefully toward him, holding him gently but firmly by his forearms. She bent her head to look into his eyes, and a shudder crackled through him like lightning. Their faces – their lips – were considerably less than an inch apart. Wasn't Mandos going to do something to intervene? Vairë was his wife, after all…
But all of his thoughts muddled and confused when the Valië spoke.
"Breathe in deeply," she whispered, and pressed her lips to his.
Obediently he slowly inhaled, and Vairë shed her body. He could feel her spirit brushing softly against his mouth, flowing past his lips, into his body… and into his heart. Elrond II gasped for air as the last traces of her unseen essence merged with him, coiling around his soul like a thread. He swayed slightly where he stood, then steadied himself.
He turned to his other half, gazing into his own eyes and noticing a bright flash of gold in the sapphire irises. They were still connected in some way, it seemed. And now he could almost feel the Weaver seating herself comfortably in some secret, safe place deep within him, and setting up her loom.
Mandos gave a single curt nod, and glanced at his younger brother. "Very well… Irmo?"
Lórien strode unperturbedly up to Elwing, returning the gesture politely as she nodded to him. He held out his right hand, with his left one hovering a short distance above it. As he moved his left hand gradually upward, a small shape appeared and began to grow. It took on a form familiar to them all: it was a tiny and perfect, yet slightly translucent facsimile of Vairë.
Elwing's eyebrow lifted slightly, but she remained hushed as the Dream-lord blew gently on the figure in his palm. It glided effortlessly through the air, expanding as it approached Elwing, and it was her own height by the time it collided quite silently with her body.
The change was instant. Elwing's normally chocolate-brown hair adopted a coppery hue, and her pale-blue dress became a deep burgundy, with numerous symbols embroidered in golden thread, positioned randomly across the cloth. Elwing's previously silver-blue eyes now gleamed a bright, vivid gold. Her entire body grew proportionally, and she was soon Vairë's nearly seven-foot height.
Elwing stared hesitantly down at her newly-transformed body, speaking to Mandos in the voice of his wife: "And how am I to join in battle like this? I don't have a fraction of your wife's powers, and I have no weapon…"
"Yes, you do," Aulë remarked. He held out the long, narrow box he had been holding all this time; Elwing took it uncertainly and opened it, and she and her son both gasped.
A sword lay nestled in the box, glittering even in its sheath. Elrond I picked it up warily and drew the blade out. The weapon shone like a firebrand in the light that it caught from the many torches flickering on the walls; strange runes were engraved upon its surface.
"What sword is this?" Elwing breathed in awe.
"It was long ago known as Narsil, before it was broken," Aulë answered her. "Its name is now Andúril, Flame of the West. Bear it well, daughter of Dior Eluchil." He met her gaze and murmured into her mind, It is my prayer that you will not have to use it.
Elrond's mother nodded, and was exceptionally hesitant as she grasped the sword's hilt in her own hand. "Morgoth would see at once that I am not one of your kindred. Why would Lady Vairë have need of a sword?"
"Not a soul must know that you have a weapon," said Lórien calmly, taking Andúril and gazing meditatively down at it. He sighed and murmured almost to himself, "I have never attempted this before… but so be it." His jaw set in resolution.
He stared hard at the sword in his hands, moving his lips, but not letting his voice escape them. As Elwing, Elrond and Aulë watched in equal silence, Andúril seemed to fade into nothing before their eyes. The Dream-lord at last extended his apparently empty hands to Elwing again, nodding to what wasn't there and saying, "Take it."
The woman warily reached out, lowering her hands toward the Vala's. She flinched back once, just slightly, before appearing to grip the unseen sword's hilt and pick it up. She ran a finger delicately along the empty space where the flat of the blade must have been, and, supposedly lowering the weapon, she reached for the sheath. It must have come over the blade, because it, too, became invisible, or else nonexistent.
Aulë held out a leather belt that had been hidden somewhere in the box, seeking Elwing's nod of assent before buckling the strap about her waist. She clipped the indistinguishable – immaterial? – sword to the belt, which also slowly vanished. Lórien must have known what he was doing!
Reassured extremely by the secreted weapon's weight against her hip, Elwing looked yet again to Mandos. "What now, sire?"
"Now," the Doomsman instructed her firmly, "you must remember not to address me so formally when we are in battle. As far as anyone else knows, you are my wife; Vairë does not acknowledge me as a lord, but as her husband. If you must use my name, then refer to me as Námo."
Elwing nodded, her face becoming even graver as the weight of those words sank into her heart like stones. "Very well… Námo," she said quietly, trying to become accustomed to the flavor of the name on her tongue.
Mandos nodded. "Then we are ready. Please join hands, everyone."
The others moved into a tight ring, each person clasping the hands of those to either side of him or her. Gazing around him at the many faces, reading so many different emotions, Elrond I and II felt their stomachs writhe painfully in anxiety. Some of his kinsfolk were nervous, while others' eyes were cold and impassive. Only Tulkas seemed cheery – not a great shock to any of them – but even his apparent good humor had an edge like a dagger.
But the half-elf soon came to notice something very odd. It gradually occurred to him that he didn't remember ever seeing Nienna fight against Morgoth so far. But the sight of her now, with an eerily unfeeling obscurity in her deep cerulean eyes, was more than enough to send bitter chills racing up and down both of Elrond's spines. When a single, foolhardy droplet dared to creep down her sallow face, the Weeper brushed it away without a word. This was not the time for pity. Compassion was valueless.
The very same thought seemed to resonate like a cold knell through all of their minds.
So, it is beyond the Walls of the World that the doom of our time will be decided.
Manwë closed his eyes, his lips moving mutely to shape the words of a strange language. An eerie wind seemed to rush through the room, making robes, gowns, tunics and cloaks billow and flap. For the second time in either life, Elrond I squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he felt a strong sensation of being irresistibly drawn to Eru-knew-where…
…and then it faded, and he opened his eyes to a world of midnight skies and dark water.
To the half-elf's knowledge, he was standing easily upright on the undisturbed surface of an ocean of limitless fathoms of liquid blackness. And a few yards in front of him stood a colossal gate, crafted completely of what appeared to be congealed shadows. The double doors towered to incalculable heights, and stretched on either side to inestimable breadth.
"We are standing at the furthest reaches of the Encircling Seas, and before us now are the Gates of Night," explained Manwë's voice, resonating uncannily in the almost substantial silence. "Now, look…"
Fifteen other pairs of widened eyes obeyed him.
The Gates were creaking open.
The Void opened up before them like a great black maw, ready to swallow them whole. A few paces were all they could take before they stood at the lips of the Abyss. The teeth were waiting for them deep inside. And what must have been the tongue spoke to them in a terrible voice.
All hope shall die beyond these doors. Turn back while you still can, or else come face-to-face with your greatest fears. You enter a dream from which there is no waking.
"So be it," said Manwë softly. "Come forward, everyone."