Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belong to J.R.R Tolkien, the only people I own are Alenor Talagand, Bréil, Sebastian and Victoria.

REVISED and EDITED Fate's Paths-Chap11-Unending Grief-

The moon was full; the type of full that shines so bright that the need for lanterns and candles dwindles. Beams of moonlight shimmered off the tops of roofs, and the fortified spires of the palace. It was late; late enough that the beams of light caught no sign of a passerby. Even the taverns were quiet. As the moonbeams wandered around the quiet city a stray wisp caught the figure of a woman, standing alone on a balcony.

Her white hair flowed down around her, framing a face that was becoming creased with age, yet still proud and handsome. Hands, knotted from the longs years of her life, gripped the white balustrade as she gazed westward. She was stooping forward, but it was not of age that caused her back to bend, it was because she was trying to make out the pass at the end of her city.

"My lady, you should come inside, it's cold out tonight."

The woman stirred, straightening, but her eyes did not waver from the indistinct outline of the narrow pass. A hand touched her elbow and the woman was forced to look up into the eyes of her personal guard.

"The pass is watched, as always," he assured her. "If there was any sign of Bréil, you would be the first to know. Come inside."

The woman shook her head, gripping her shawl more closely about her strong shoulders. "I must stay here. I must keep vigilance. They are late; he should have been back by now. What if he came too late to save her?"

"We mustn't worry," the guard urged. "This is out our hands; the only thing we can do is pray for your Granddaughter's safety. It is Bréil who we placed our hope into; it is in him where the burden lies. He has never failed you."

The woman shook her head, her eyes returning to the distant pass. She felt the guard take her arm again and irritably shook it off. "I refuse to move."

"My lady, the beginning of the Harvest starts tomorrow. Your people will want you there to help."

The woman stirred, sighing heavily. "Alright Sebastian, I'll go in, if it makes you happy." Out of the corner of her eye she saw the sturdily built man fight to hide a smile.

"Of course my lady. Perhaps you'll want dinner?"

"I suppose," she grumbled, realizing she had just been conned into doing something by her guard. And I thought I was the ruler of this city and that everyone listened to me! I must be getting addled with old age.

XxXxXx

At first Elrond wasn't sure what had alerted him. His head shot up, looking around the room, looking for the source of wrongness that had awoken him. Seeing nothing for the moment, his hands drifted to his eyes to wipe the sleep away. Stretching, he stood to light a few candles but noticed that the moonlight creeping through the window was adequate enough. Sighing he slumped back into his chair. He didn't know if he even had the energy to stand up again and knew that it was a dangerous sign saying that he had pushed himself too far. Elrond couldn't even remember the last time he had eaten, though he was sure the Healers had taken care of that problem for him.

The past few days, Elrond hadn't dared left his son's side, remaining constantly vigilant. Elladan's health had decreased alarmingly, startling the Healers who were ordered to stay away when they became too suspicious of his health. Elrond didn't want to explain what he was doing; it was painful enough having to watch it.

It was then he noticed again that there was something wrong in the room. Stiffening, Elrond look around again, this time his eyes caught upon Elladan's form lying on the bed.

"Dear Valar," he gasped, leaning forward, a hand reaching out to grab his son's. It was still warm, but his breath came out in the barest of whispers. "Is it time?" the words halted in his throat, as grief rushed back to the surface. Elrohir wasn't even there to say goodbye.

"Adar?"

The voice was quiet, hoarse, nearly non existent, but Elrond heard it. Forcing himself to put away his grief, he lifted his head, leaning closer to hear what Elladan had to say. "I'm here," he murmured.

"Where's Elrohir?" the Elf asked, frowning suddenly seeming very lucid. It was a bad sign, a sign that signified that the next few moments were going to be his last. "And Alenor, have you found her?"

Elrond shook his head. "We haven't found her," he whispered, not wanting to lie to his son in his final moments. "But we haven't lost hope. Elrohir is still searching for her."

"Good," Elladan whispered, his eyes searching out the ceiling beams. "I would not want him here, seeing this moment."

Elrond nodded, glad that his son was taking it well. Elladan already knew he was going to die; there was nothing he could say anymore that would change that. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'm not," Elladan smiled a bit. "Because I'll always be here. In these walls. In your heart. I love you Adar nothing changes that. Not even death." He paused looking around him. "But I would like to see the stars before I die."

Nodding, tears brimming quickly in his eyes, Elrond stood, pulling back the covers. He tried hard not to notice how unwell his son looked, wanting only to remember him as the vibrant, mischievous Elf that Rivendell loved. Without a word he lifted Elladan into his arms, and carried him toward the portico that was attached to his room.

"When is the Harvest Adar?" Elladan asked his voice soft.

"In a few days," Elrond replied, shouldering the door open.

"If only..." Elladan stopped, closing his eyes, as he took a few shuddering breaths. "You must say goodbye for me. I cannot do it myself. I think this is the Valar and Eru's last gift to me."

Elrond nodded, laying his son down on a recliner, kneeling next to him. Elladan's eyes were fastened on the stars; he was smiling, even though tears trailed down the corners of his eyes. Lovingly, Elrond reached out, gently brushing them away. "I'll always love you Elladan."

"I love you too Father," the Elf whispered, his voice dropping lower. Still staring up at the sky, his chest gave a heave as he breathed his last. Still smiling, his eyes slowly closed, his hand tightening momentarily around his Father's, as if in one last attempt to comfort him.

For a long moment Elrond said nothing, struggling within himself, denying to himself that Elladan was dead. It took only for a moment for the denial to lose ground and the overpowering grief to take place. Unable to hold back tears, Elrond let his head fall to rest against the edge of the recliner, his body shuddering as the tears rolled forth. The stars winked down on him sympathetically, but he hardly noticed. In that moment nothing mattered, everything was without meaning. It was such a grief that words could not even begin to describe it.

Far away, in a small camp that touched the fringes of the Mountains, Elrohir sat up. Sweat poured off his face and for a moment he could not figure out what had happened. When the knowing settled in, he screamed in anguish, burying his face into his hands as tears streamed down his face. He continued to scream, screaming accusations to his brother, as if hoping that they would bring him back. It took a startled Halbarad and Estel, aroused abruptly from sleep, a few moments to realize what had happened. Trying not to let their grief show they moved to comfort the distraught Elf, as he keened.

The night had fallen dead silent, as if in quiet respect and lament for one of the Eldar passing onto the Halls of Mandos.