Chapter Seventy-Nine: Once and Forever
"What in Arda is going on?" Elrond I fearfully repeated his mother's words, gazing about him wildly and eventually locking eyes with Mandos. The Doomsman's eyes were weird, clouded; he sent out a steady stream of thoughts from his mind to the elder elf's. Elrond I slowly relaxed, pulling slightly back from his younger counterpart and gazing deeply into those terrified, tear-filled blue eyes that were his own.
Answer me this, Mandos whispered into the elf's two minds. What are the substances by which you have lived, and have used to fight against Morgoth?
Fire, Elrond I murmured mentally, at just the same time as Elrond II breathed, Ice.
There was an uncanny, mingled crackling noise from floor level, and everyone except for Mandos gasped in dread-laced awe. Elrond I's toes were wreathed in a rising orange fire, while Elrond II's were sheathed in smooth blue-green ice. Water was pooling under them where the ice was slowly melting, and steam rose in wisps from the fire that was put out. Elrond II was stiff with fear, and every so often he whimpered fretfully. But Elrond I was fully calm, soothed and reassured by the Doomsman's mental words, which he relayed to his godson in a whisper. But the younger elf's terror did not abate in the slightest.
Eärendil made as though to lunge forward, but Mandos halted him with a brief motion of his hand. The mariner suddenly found himself rooted to the deck, unable to move his feet. He gazed helplessly on as fire and ice crackled and hissed upward inch by inch, and thick clouds of steam obscured the unnatural spectacle.
The fire and ice had by now reached Elrond's shins, and were crawling speedily up to his knees. The two halves of the elf stood somewhat apart, no longer in an embrace, but now holding hands. Their eyes were locked, a serene pair with a petrified one. Over the sound of spitting fire and dripping water they could distinguish their mother and father's voices, pleading with the Doomsman for answers, and apparently receiving none.
"My lord, please," Eärendil was very nearly sobbing, "what is going on? If nothing else, tell me if my son is in danger!"
"He is perfectly safe," Mandos answered in a strange, hollow voice. "It will all be over in a matter of moments…"
Eärendil and his wife watched and waited in agony, straining to see past the veil of steam. Just beyond their sight, Elrond I and II stood gazing into each other's eyes as they burned and froze. The flame and frost had passed the elf's two waists, and was inching up toward his chests. As all this was happening, Elrond I spoke soothingly to his godson, by the use of the thoughts he received from Mandos.
No matter what takes place in the future, remember this: you will be well. The Darkness is beyond you now; nothing can hurt you anymore.
But what's going to happen? Elrond II wondered silently. To you, to me? To everyone?
His own voice reached his mind like good-natured laughter. Life will go on, Elrond, just not as it was before. It will be almost as it would have been, as it should have. Trust me.
Elrond II struggled to breathe as the ice enclosed his chest, and compressed it powerfully. Elrond I's torso was ablaze, and the flames had caught his hair and hissed up to the crown of his head, heightening his resemblance to a lion with a fiery mane. Only the elder half-elf's face and neck were able to be seen now, unscathed. His lips were curled upward in a smile, and his godson smiled feebly back.
Fire and ice climbed higher still, snapping, stealing over skin of throats and chins, sealing lips firmly shut, clotting nostrils and ears. But Elrond I and II could still see each other, if only for the moment. As the younger elf's eyes frosted over, and the elder's wept tears of boiling water, Elrond I whispered one last reassurance to himself. You will be fine.
He folded his burning arms tight around the frozen statue of his godson, allowing his fires to melt the ice, and to be extinguished themselves. The steam all around them completely concealed them; neither their parents nor the two Valar could see them. All that Eärendil, Elwing, Mandos and Varda could discern was the faint thump of something falling to the deck, and the sharp hiss of steam. But, as the cloudy curtain dissipated, they could see the lone figure, on his hands and knees in a growing pool of water on the deck, head bowed, shuddering and sobbing…
Eärendil leapt forth in desperation a second time, and this time he succeeded. He hurried to the trembling, dripping wet figure's side, lifting his head and gazing into the ash-white, tear-streaked face. Two dull blue eyes met his own, and the mariner whispered nervously, "Elrond?"
"F-Father?" The stuttering reply hissed out from between faltering lips as the cloudy eyes blinked a few times and cleared, focusing on Eärendil's face. The mariner nodded mutely as a smile found his mouth and settled there. Gently he grasped Elrond's hand and pulled him to his feet, where he stood unsteadily. Eärendil (and Elwing, as she rushed forward) both carefully supported the drenched elf, feeling his incessant tremors only too well.
"But which Elrond is he?" Elwing asked in confusion, as they led their son carefully back to where Mandos and Varda still stood in silence. "The First or the Second?"
"He is technically both, and as such, he is the only Elrond," the Doomsman answered her, smiling benignly. "Time has amended itself at last. Your son is now as he was in the life previous to this one – as he was always ultimately meant to be. He will never be sundered into two halves again, spiritually or otherwise."
Elrond, the one and only, gazed dumbly up into Varda's face as the Valië seemingly drew a thick, woolen blanket out of thin air and draped it kindly around his quaking shoulders. She accepted his weak, soundless smile of thanks with a gentle nod, turning her head a bit to one side as another woman's voice spoke up softly.
"Elrond is in great need of rest. Perhaps I should take him into my care, for what remains of the night."
"Indeed you should, Estë," Mandos nodded to the grey-clad woman who had just arrived on deck. "He certainly deserves every bit of the rest he can acquire."
The Healer nodded, taking Elrond gently underneath his arm and steering him toward the stairs that led below. Eärendil called after them, "You'll find some clean nightshirts in the topmost drawer of the chest in my bedroom. Elrond can wear one of those."
Eärendil, Elwing and their Valarin companions all stared long after the retreating half-elf and Valië; the elven husband and wife were uncertain whether to smile or not, the Star-Queen was smiling slightly, the Doomsman was solemn. A hush had fallen over the ship, broken only by the occasional creak of Vingilot's rigging or the flap of her sails. Mandos was the first to break the silence, addressing Eärendil and his wife.
"Perhaps you both should get some rest as well," he advised them good-naturedly. "I will mind the helm for the rest of the night in your stead, if you wish," he told Eärendil.
"Thank you very much, my lord," the mariner nodded. "I would greatly appreciate that."
----
Mandos sighed silently as he leaned against the ship's tiller, his head bowed, and his pale hands clenched on two spokes of the white wooden wheel. Now, in the quiet and solitude of the autumn night, the Doomsman was finally freed to let his true emotions flood out of his heart, unhindered and unnoticed. Tears speckled wood and skin alike as sobs wracked the Vala's slender frame, and limitless memories poured into his soul. Every one of those memories was of the very same person. Elrond the First. Elrond the Second. Elrond. And every one of those memories echoed with the same bitter thought.
I love him. I truly love him, and all I wish is for that feeling to be returned unto me… but how can that be, if he still has not accepted my devotions after five thousand years? How can he ever comprehend? I cannot attempt to force him to love me in return, I know this. But it has been so long, and he cannot accept something as pure and simple as love… the love of a brother…
But something else in him stood up, and spoke out. Why am I asking these questions? Am I not all-knowing, as Eru has decreed? Why, then, do these questions persevere? I should know the answers! I must know! Eru, why do you torment me in this way? Are you hiding this knowledge even from me? Why? I have done nothing but carry out Your will!
The answer came to him in a voice like thunder sighing in the wind.
NÁMO, MY SON, I AM SORRY THAT IT MUST BE THIS WAY. YES, THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT I HAVE KEPT CONCEALED FROM YOU – THINGS YOU WERE NOT MEANT TO COMPREHEND YET, AND SOME THINGS WHICH YOU FOUND OUT LONG AGO. BUT THOSE THAT ARE STILL HIDDEN WILL ALL BE REALIZED SOONER THAN YOU EXPECT.
How? Mandos whispered, lifting his tear-filled eyes to the great, empty skies above. How and when?
WAIT AND SEE, MY CHILD. ALL WILL SOON BE WELL.
Mandos nodded once in compliance, wholly trusting his Creator. He looked back down to the ship's tiller, and up again, to what lay before Vingilot's prow, far in the distance – the eastern Walls of the World, and the Gates of Morning. The Doomsman allowed himself a single, brief smile, which just as soon flipped upside-down and became a look of dismay when he heard a distraught, whimpering call in some back corner of his mind.
Mandos… Mandos… Mandos…
----
Eärendil gazed down in silent trepidation at his only son, who lay shivering, sweating and twitching agitatedly in the mariner's bed. The half-elf's face was the yellowish hue of old parchment, with neither a fevered pink flush, nor an icy blue tinge; his eyes were tightly shut, and he moaned and mumbled incomprehensibly under his breath.
Estë sat at Elrond's bedside, struggling – yes, struggling! – to pacify the unnatural squall of heat and cold within his body. Lórien sat on Elrond's other side with his palm held flat against the elf's moist, sweaty forehead, trying his hardest to reach his friend's mind with a stream of soothing thoughts. Varda and Elwing both looked on in helpless silence, like the mariner.
Pearly tears slipped down Estë's cheeks one by one as she poured out her healing energy for her kinsman. This was unlike anything she had ever attempted to heal before. Under a normal set of circumstances Elrond would have been completely well long ago. But now, now his muttering became louder, his tremors more fitful.
Lórien, too, battled all the more distraughtly to soothe his friend. Elrond's thoughts were a maelstrom of cries, so many cries, that the Dream-lord could scarcely discern one from another. But one suddenly keened into his head like an eagle's shriek, making him flinch back in shock. A name blazed in Lórien's mind (almost the last one he had expected), and he started to speak it aloud.
"We need—"
"Me," the Doomsman finished for his brother as he whirled into the room, even before he was fully corporeal. "Elrond called out for me."
Lórien nodded, but just as soon noticed something different about the stricken half-elf in the bed. Elrond's breathing had inexplicably eased, his muttering had halted, and he was no longer shaking. His skin was slowly regaining a healthy tone as his body relaxed. The others, even Mandos, stared down at Elrond in utter awe. The Dream-lord was the first to speak.
"How is this possible, Námo? You had only to enter this room, and you accomplished in an instant what Estë and I have been fighting to do for nearly an hour! What happened?"
"He called for me, and I answered him," Mandos replied faintly, moving closer to Elrond and putting a pale hand on his cheek. He smiled as the elf's lips relaxed into a contented smile. "And something which has driven me to tears for five thousand years has only now become perfectly clear. I should have listened to you long before, Irmo… you knew it all along."
"What could I possibly have known that you did not?" Lórien asked in confusion.
Mandos' eyes brimmed with tears of happiness as he gazed into the half-elf's serene face, and he answered in an elated murmur, "Elrond loves me every bit as deeply as I love him. It was my love he wanted now, mine above all… he has accepted my feelings for him at last. He and I finally fully understand each other."
----
Elrond came awake slowly, blinking and wincing as a sharp shaft of sunlight lanced into his unsuspecting eyes. He certainly wasn't aboard Vingilot anymore, he realized as he sat up, brushed his rather disheveled hair out of his face and took in his surroundings.
The bed he lay in wasn't one of the hammock-like things he had seen in his father's ship; it was a real bed, with a proper frame, mattress and headboard. The sunlight was filtering through a marginal opening in the curtains of a window just above his head, illuminating a nightstand to the right of the bed, as well as the items sitting on it; the box that held his Silmaril circlet, and some small thing that was covered in a section of dark blue cloth, to conceal the bright light that the object seemed to be giving off. Uncovering the thing with interest, the half-elf smiled when he saw that it was a small glass bottle, filled with a pale pearly white, gently pulsing jellylike substance: stargoo, he soon realized.
A short distance away from the foot of the bed, a small stack of neatly-folded clothes sat on top of a desk amid scattered parchment scrolls, but far from the threat of splattered ink offered by stray quills and upturned inkwells. Standing against the far wall, in the right-hand corner was a lofty wardrobe, just a few feet from the bedroom door, which was even now creaking slowly open. A tall figure stood silhouetted on the doorstep, soon revealed to be Eärendil. Seeing that his son was awake, the mariner called into the room, grinning.
"Rise and shine, sleepyhead! Luncheon's all prepared and waiting for you on the table in the dining room downstairs. Don't let it go cold!"
Slightly reluctantly, Elrond left the warm, cozy comfort of his bed as his father departed, and retrieved the clothes awaiting him on the desk. Shrugging off his nightshirt, he drew a clean shirt and tunic over his head, and pulled on a fresh pair of breeches, then tidied up his hair in front of a mirror he found on the inside of the wardrobe door. After a minute's hesitation, he turned back to the bedside table and put on his circlet as well, then hurried to find the dining room, chuckling to himself as he did. "'Rise and shine', indeed."
"Well, well, look who's up and about." Elwing smiled as her son entered the dining room a few minutes later. She was seated at a small, circular table between her husband and an empty chair, with Varda, Estë, Mandos and Lórien taking up four other seats. The half-elf bowed low to the Valar, who smiled and nodded in reply as Elrond sat down in the empty seat between his mother and Lórien, and breathed in the tantalizing aromas that rose from the laden plate under his nose.
"I hope you rested well," the Dream-lord smiled conversationally.
"Very well, thank you," Elrond nodded gratefully, glancing at both Lórien and Estë as he spoke.
"You certainly deserved it, after such a trying night," Varda said sagely, serenely picking up her fork and lading it with salad.
"Trying, indeed," agreed Mandos, "but I hope it was also enjoyable?"
"Enjoyable?" Elrond repeated, smiling benignly. "There's the understatement of the Age. I can honestly say that last night was quite possibly the most wonderful night of my life. The only time I've been as happy as I was then, is when I was dead." He laughed. "How many living elves can say that truthfully … 'when I was dead'?"
"Apart from you, only one," the Doomsman informed him. "Have you ever met an elf by the name of Glorfindel? He was slaughtered by a Balrog, and he resided in my Halls for a time before being re-embodied."
Elrond frowned pensively. "The name rings a bell."
"I knew him," Eärendil spoke up suddenly. "Glorfindel of Gondolin… He died protecting my people from the Balrog, dragged down to his death from a mountain peak, by the long golden hair he was named for."
"Correct," Mandos nodded, spearing a morsel of ham on his fork and lifting it to his lips. "And as much as I would love to continue reminiscing about history, my digestive system urges me strongly to choose otherwise."
The seven companions dined in silence at first, until a clever remark from Eärendil ("The food must be simply superb, because no-one's talking at all!") effectively broke the quiet, and drove both elves and Valar alike to merriment. Now they laughed and jested between bites and sips. Several minutes into the meal, Elrond clicked his spoon lightly against his wineglass for silence, then got to his feet and lifted the goblet.
"I would like to give a toast," he announced. "To the many, many people of the past and the present (some of whom are gathered here), who have devoted so many years of their lives for the aid of one elf, and ultimately the whole world… without all of your help, the earth as we know it would be nonexistent. Everyone, both the Living and Dead, owe their existences to you. We cannot thank you enough."
As the others stood and drank from their own glasses, Mandos replied to his friend's toast with his own. "And to you, Elrond Peredhel, son of Eärendil the Mariner and Elwing the White. You, more than anyone, have proven it true that even a Vala who thought he knew everything can still learn many things about life, and most importantly of all, about love." The Doomsman smiled, even as a silvery tear left a long, damp trail down his pale cheek. "I cannot thank you enough."
----
Elrond couldn't recall ever being so completely blissful as he was on that blessed, golden afternoon in his father's cottage. Then again, he reasoned, it was very different seeing the world through two eyes than through four. Taking up just half as much space on the earth as he had for the past six and a half millennia would certainly take some getting used-to, not to mention the burden of two lifetimes' worth of memory shoved into one brain. How Mandos ever managed to (apparently) readily tolerate at least a hundred times that much, he would never know.
The half-elf smiled as he absently watched the stargoo in its bottle palpitating, and almost wriggling. Every so often a small globule would come free of the main mass, and drift for a minute before reattaching itself and merging with the larger blob. All the while the stuff gave off a steady white light.
"Elrond?" said a soft, sorrowful voice.
Elrond looked up at his father, whose eyes told the whole story of what was inevitably on his tongue. Not another word needed to be said by the mariner, for his son understood the truth already.
"It's almost sunset, isn't it?"
Eärendil nodded, tears glistening candidly in his eyes as he enfolded his son in a tight but gentle embrace. They both knew what the fall of night meant for them. Eärendil would go on another flight across the sky, and Elrond would return home to his wife, never to meet his father face to face again.
Elrond didn't even realize that he'd been crying until his sobs had stopped, and his breath came in hiccupping gasps. Over his father's shoulder he saw Varda, Mandos, Lórien and Estë, all waiting in silence for something. The Doomsman and the Dream-lord came forth as the two elves slowly parted, and the younger of the two Valarin brothers placed a hand on Elrond's shoulder.
"This isn't a 'forever' farewell," he said sympathetically, noticing the wetness of the elf's eyes. "Now that you have been restored to your rightful form, the work that Námo and I began so long ago is finished at last. But we will always be near if you wish to be with us. I will not tell you not to weep; you know as well as I that not all tears are an evil."
"Very true," Elrond nodded, blinking hard, "but not all tears are shed in sorrow, either."
Lórien laughed softly, allowing his own tears to spill over as his kinsman embraced him. As they finally pulled away, the Dream-lord lightly kissed the elf's cheek and murmured, "My halls will always welcome you." Then he drifted quietly back to let his elder brother come forward.
Mandos was extremely nervous, Elrond felt it in a moment. But the Doomsman managed to smile when he spoke. "I wish I could say the same as Irmo, in regards to any welcomes from my realm."
Elrond also smiled. "Don't worry. Those twenty-four hours you gave me were beautiful."
Considerably encouraged by this, the Vala went on, "And these three Ages have been far better than even I could have known. Do not look so surprised," he laughed at the look on Elrond's face. "It appears I am not quite as omniscient as I always thought. Eru, for some purpose or another, decided to hide several fragments of His knowledge from me. Those included the full extent of your feelings, and the result of this relationship."
The half-elf stood in an awestruck silence. Mandos had not known about his feelings, he had never before realized the true, untainted passion of love… but now he did. Now, just at the point of completion of this journey.
"What I mean to say," Mandos continued, "is that your presence in my life at such a deep and personal level has affected me greatly. You offered me friendship; you inadvertently showed me how to perceive emotions beyond my two previous, vague brushes with pity; you have, in short, given me everything I needed to dwell easily among people to whom sentiment and kindness are second nature.
"You gave me an entirely fresh outlook on life as a whole – which is itself a novelty, for the primary purpose of my existence, as decreed by Eru, has been in ordaining a place on the earth for life's strict opposite, death. This has truly changed not only you and I, but all of Arda. Things will be very different from now on because of what you have done."
"But, if it hadn't been for the involvement of everyone I know," Elrond spoke up, "things wouldn't have turned out this way at all."
"Indeed," the Doomsman agreed. "But it is with these tidings that I fear I must leave you. The single purpose for which I came to you has been fulfilled. You have no more need of my involvement in your life." His dark cerulean eyes were noticeably moist.
"Do you know that for a fact?" Elrond asked him gently.
Mandos blinked several times, his lips flickering between a smile and a frown. "You tell me, then. Am I to no longer be part of your life?"
"No," the half-elf answered. "I have spent the past six and a half millennia with you, and I would truly, deeply love for you to remain a part of my life. Even if your halls can't be open to me, my house will always be open to you. That goes for all of your kindred also," he added, looking to Varda, Lórien and Estë. "I would be honored if you would choose to visit. There will even be extra space for accommodation, what with me only needing one bedroom now." He laughed, and the others smiled.
"We would all be most honored to visit you, I am sure," Varda told him. "But I am afraid it is time for us to depart." The Sun was almost at the horizon.
Eärendil drew a rather tremulous breath, but all of the tears he could weep for his son had already been shed. He just nodded mutely, bowing to the assembled Valar as he moved to the door, with Elwing walking slowly behind.
Lórien and Estë, having said and done all they could, vanished in a silken grey whirl. But Mandos lingered for a moment, still facing Elrond, with a tiny smile resting upon his lips. And the elf stared into the Vala's eyes, and sent a very polite thought. If I may, sir…
He had to stand on his toes to reach so high, and Mandos deliberately stooped a little to help him, but Elrond never looked away from the Doomsman's eyes as he very carefully, very politely, very gently, touched his lips to Mandos' cheek. He couldn't help but shiver at the feeling of the cold, soft skin against his mouth, and the Vala smiled apologetically. Then he himself returned the elf's action.
For a moment the two kinsmen just gazed at each other in a respectful hush; then Mandos smiled and, unexpectedly, laughed. Elrond raised an eyebrow at him, inquiring, "What is so amusing, may I ask?"
"I was only contemplating an adage that could never before have been said of you in this lifetime, yet now rings completely true," the Doomsman answered.
"What might that be?" Elrond ventured.
Mandos' eyes shone as he laughed. "You have faced many tests and trials, and you have made it through them all in one piece."
The merriment of an elf and a Vala mingled as they clasped hands, and departed from the house of Eärendil in a whirl of robes. It was the end of a very long day, and the beginning of the rest of several immortal lives. No-one wanted it any other way.
The End