Chapter 9: The Advisements
It was very late, but Elladan saw there was light still coming from under his father's study door. He softly knocked and was told to enter.
Elrond looked up from the parchment on his desk, his quill poised above the paper. Seeing that it was Elladan, he placed the quill aside and stood. Something of importance troubled this son—Elrond could see it plainly on his face.
"Elladan," he said in greeting, "You were missed this evening. Is all well?"
"Well enough, Father," Elladan replied. "I merely wondered did you have any message for my grandparents. I thought to visit Lothlorien soon."
"Soon?" Elrond asked him.
"I was planning to leave on the morrow."
"Is your brother going, too?" Elrond thought this was probably an inane question. One twin rarely ventured very far away from the other.
"I've not asked him."
"That is somewhat unusual, is it not?"
"I suppose I'm highly predictable, most times, but—" He paused. He truly wished he could tell his father his problems, but he didn't think he dared. His heart was troubled, but Elladan thought the better advice would come from those not quite so close to him. And he feared Elrond's reaction should he tell him of his uncertainty about Jeren.
"But?" Elrond prompted. He knew this mood of his son—too harsh and Elladan would flee like startled prey.
"But nothing. I've just now made up my mind about the trip. I've not seen Elrohir to ask him. I suppose he will join me."
Deciding this superficial conversation had gone on long enough, Elrond determined to risk his son's flight by confronting the real issue.
"Elladan," he said quietly, "you know you need not go haring off to Lothlorien to get answers to your cares. You have a father here who would listen, but you just tell him your trouble."
Elladan bowed his head for a moment, then looked up at Elrond. "I know that, but I'm uncertain that you can be objective about this particular problem."
Elrond stood before his son and looked him in the eyes, making sure his point got taken. "If something concerns you this much, I will listen and not judge. I want to help you, but you must trust me."
Elrond could see the war going on in Elladan's eyes. He almost dreaded what his son might tell him, if he relented and revealed what was on his mind.
"Jeren has been in my bed." Elladan walked away from his father, then turned back and added, "Only once. But that was enough."
Elrond could feel his anger rising. He'd made it abundantly clear to all his children the consequences of such relationships. But he'd promised Elladan that he could trust him. He'd not go back on his word. "When was this?" he asked. "And what prompted it?"
"A few months ago," Elladan said, almost impatiently. "What has that to do with anything?"
"I merely wondered how long this has been weighing on you," Elrond said with more calm than he truly felt, trying to diffuse the situation. "That is all. And how the event may have occurred could have bearing on what advice I might give."
Elladan picked up the quill off the desk and turned it over in his fingers, as if examining it. "We were having a glass of wine in my room and she drank most of the bottle." Then he added, as if in defense, "She's often been there with nothing untoward happening." He replaced the quill on the desk.
"Oh not that Old Winyard from the Shire," Elrond said with a grimace, as if that might explain everything neatly.
Elladan laughed shortly. "No, not the Old Winyard. I think Jeren cannot handle any spirits no matter their strength." Then he thought of tonight's conversation he'd had with her and added, "Yet I'm not sure she was as inebriated as she let on."
"You think she may have set out to ensnare you?"
"I thought not at the time," Elladan said, "but after speaking with her tonight, something she said has made me wonder."
"It matters not," Elrond admitted. "What matters is how you feel about it now." He knew this was indeed the heart of the issue.
Elladan looked into his father's eyes. "That is the problem. I don't know how I feel. It used to be very plain to me—Jeren was a friend and that was all. Now, I find myself wanting to be with her." He then added quickly, "—not just in bed. If that were all, this would be easier to resolve."
"You're afraid your love for her has grown to be more than just as a friend," Elrond stated.
Elladan nodded but did not say anything.
Elrond knew he'd been right to fear what Elladan would tell him. This was the worst possible news. Elladan's heritage, being what it was—laden with one very big choice—would make such a dilemma monumental in his son's eyes. Indeed, in the father's eyes, perhaps even more so.
"Well, you are right about one thing—distance and time away—or perhaps other diversions—could be the solution to your problem," Elrond said. "I certainly hope you can resolve this in the prudent fashion. And we both know what that would be."
"What worries me," Elladan admitted. "is that I've felt this way before, just not about a woman—it has always been Elleths in the past. And it's never gone beyond mild infatuation. Could be that's all this is."
"Could be." Elrond said. "I truly wish there were something I could do for you other than listen. But you are grown and only you can handle your affairs now."
Elrond turned down the wick on the lamp until it went out, and then he joined his son, putting his arm around his shoulders. They walked out the door.
"I feared you would take Jeren's side in this," Elladan said.
"Is there a side to take, Elladan?" his father asked him. "I fear you both will be hurt by this, should it continue."
"Well it is hard not to notice that you dote on her," Elladan said.
"You are my son. Nothing is more important to me. You must know that. I hope you make every effort to not let this happen again with Jeren. It would only seal your fate. She is very easy to love."
As they walked down the hallway, Elrond asked, "So, will you be leaving on the morrow?"
Elladan looked at his father. "I think you've made the trip unnecessary." He gave Elrond a half smile. "Thank you, Ada," he said.
Elrond had not heard that particular endearment for a very long time. It warmed his heart.
They continued their walk down the darkened hallway.
Yet with every step he took, Elrond's heart grew colder with worry.
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Jeren and Rhyse went back to the house, taking their horses to the stables first, where they bid each other good night. She left him with no sure answer about whether she would allow him to court her or not. The more she considered the idea—at least in theory, if not in the actual doing of it—the more she liked it. She hated the thought that she might lead Rhyse on. He was a nice enough fellow, and he did not deserve to be deceived. But she had no interest in him as a man or a suitor. What she did care about was having him on her side when it came to her becoming a ranger. If she had a pawn inside the group—one that could sing her praises as a dependable warrior—perhaps the others could finally be swayed. She shook her head, not believing the depths she apparently would stoop to, just to get her way in this.
It was with these thoughts swimming in her head that she came to the door of her room. Just before she turned the knob to let herself in, she glimpsed Elrond out of the corner of her eye, standing outside his bedchamber door.
She stifled a gasp, but in a quiet enough voice she said, "You scared me!"
"I am sorry, child," he replied. "But I heard your footsteps approaching, so I waited for you. I would very much like to speak to you, if you are not too tired."
"Of course," she said, and admitted him before her into her room. Lamps were already lit—courtesy of Naith, or perhaps Daeron. They went out onto the veranda, seating themselves at the table there.
"I will get to my point. 'Tis been a long day and a hard one for you, and I truly do not wish to stress you more. This is a subject that will bring neither of us much joy, but it is necessarily discussed. I've spoken to Elladan, and he has told me that the two of you have been—close, shall we say."
"Lord Elrond—" Jeren gasped, her face beginning to redden.
He held up a hand for her silence. "I'm not here to condemn you, nor judge my son, Jeren. I'm here to caution you. There are things of which you are not aware. I would have you fully informed." He sat back in his chair and looked at her, his face as solemn and sad as Jeren had ever seen it. "I'm assuming you do not know this, so stop me if you do. I know the two of us have never discussed it, but you may have spoken to the twins about it."
He got up from his chair and moved to the railing, but he leaned against it, turning back to face her. "I am what is called a Peredhil in my language—half Elven in yours. My father was Human, my mother Elf kind." He paused for a moment, and since she did not stop him or otherwise indicate that she had heard this tale before, he continued. "At the end of the first age, I and my brother Elros, who was my only sibling, were granted the gift of deciding which race to which we would ultimately belong—the Elves or Humans. My brother chose to live as Human, and he lived for over 500 years. Very long for a Mortal—but a very short life when compared to an Elf's. There isn't a day that I do not miss him being here."
Elrond walked back to the table and sat again. "My children have also been granted this gift. I say it is a gift, but at times I curse it, especially as their father. Were it my choice, they would decide to be Elf kind. I, however, do not know their minds or how they might ultimately choose. I suppose that is why I have always cautioned them to not become seriously involved with Mortals. I want nothing to tempt them to the 'other side'.
"If my children choose to live with Humans, as Humans, their lives will be finite. I will go on as I always have—but without them, if that is the path they choose. Their time with me will be short—too short. It breaks my heart to think of living without any one of them." The profound sadness in Elrond's voice, as well as on his face, made Jeren feel like weeping again.
He got up from his chair and looked down at her. "I wanted you to know these things; I told you it was so that you were fully informed, and I truly do not want you hurt. Yet I know as the words are leaving my mouth that I tell you this because I am selfish at heart. I thought that perhaps knowing this might turn you away in your quest for Elladan's love. I would never lose him to death, could I help it. I am sorry." His voice had trailed off, until he was all but whispering.
Jeren did not know what to say, so she remained silent. Elrond kissed the top of her head and left the room.
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Jeren tossed in her bed, thumping her pillow for the tenth time. Even though she was desperately tired, she could not sleep. Elrond's words kept tumbling around in her restless mind.
Her emotions had hit all possible points—from being contrite, to being furious, to being confused as to what to do. When she thought about Elrond, and how kind he'd been to her, how much he'd done for her, she was sorry that she would have ever put him through this pain. She was angry that up till now no one had told her of this choice the children of Elrond confronted, and what that meant to all involved. And now that she knew, what would she do about it?
She'd known since she'd first confessed her love to Elladan that a relationship between Elves and Mortals was fraught with difficulty. Yet she'd consciously avoided thinking about that. It seemed irrelevant, when the difficulties would be years and years away in the future. She lived in the present, when none of these things yet mattered to her.
Although she tried telling herself again that these things that were so worrisome were years and years in the future—let them happen when they happened—she could no longer bury her head in the sand. Lord Elrond was a flesh and blood being—someone she loved. She had to think of these things for his sake. Lord Elrond's quiet plea—for her to leave Elladan alone—had not fallen on deaf ears. He would suffer terribly, were Elladan to decide to love her, and she would not hurt him for anything.
Then she had a terrible thought. Elladan and Elrohir were twins. They did everything together. They had a mind connection. No two beings she'd known had ever been so closely connected. What one chose in this dilemma, the other would more than likely opt for, too. So if Elladan chose to be with her, Lord Elrond would not only lose one son to death, he'd lose both of them. That was completely unfair.
She thought about Rhyse and what he'd asked her tonight. She'd had her heart set on Elladan for so long, she wondered if she could ever find love with another. If only she did not know of this choice—and what it meant to the Elf lord—she could go on loving his son.
But she was deceiving herself.
After her conversation with Elladan this evening, she knew her love for him was in vain. Yet even hearing him say they had no future had not changed her deep love of him. Lord Elrond's desperate appeal left her knowing one sure fact: she could no longer pursue her dream of having Elladan as her own.
She tossed to her other side again, pulling the pillow from beneath her head and hugging it to her breast. How was she to forget Elladan and all he meant to her? How? She'd loved him for over seven years. That is not something that would just go away, no matter who wished it to.
She thought about Rhyse again. Perhaps he was the answer to all these questions. But how fair was it to him, to use him in order to forget someone else? To allow him to court her when she truly loved another?
And now to the bigger question—how was she to face Elladan every day, all the while trying to get him out of her heart? She could be where he was not, but the trouble with that was he was everywhere she wanted to be—either here in Rivendell or at the Dunedain stronghold with the rangers. No matter what she chose, he'd be there at some point; she couldn't imagine trying to forget her love for him if he was always in her sight.
Then she knew that she had to leave Rivendell, at least for now. She could not face Lord Elrond, either. He'd all but begged her to leave Elladan alone—let him choose to be of the Elves, not of Humans. How could she face Lord Elrond every day, knowing that she loved Elladan and could not fathom—at least at present—not loving him? It was going to take much time—if she could succeed at all—to cut her love for Elladan out of her heart.
For that is what it felt like—that her heart was being sliced and torn asunder.
Well, it had taken hours off her sleep, and it was almost dawn, but she'd thought the problem through. She did not like the answers she'd arrived at, but her alternatives were no good, either. She would accept Aragorn's offer and go to the stronghold. There, she would work as she'd never worked before to be accepted by them, for if she wasn't, she had nowhere else to go.
She fell asleep, hugging her pillow, tears drying on her face.
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Jeren had barely closed her eyes to sleep, when the morning light coming through the open windows woke her. She washed and dressed quickly. She had her ears tuned to when Elrond would leave his bedchamber. She must speak with him—soon. This morning.
She finally heard what she'd been waiting for: Elrond's door opening and then closing again softly. He was making his way downstairs. She waited a few heartbeats and then followed. She knew she'd find him in his study. It was where he always was, first thing in the morning, before he broke his fast.
She knocked at the study door when she reached it. She could not falter, nor break down. Her mind was made up. She heard his soft 'enter' and she turned the knob and stepped inside. She closed the door and remained facing it, willing herself not to lose heart.
"Jeren," he said, as if surprised. "I am happy to see you this morning. I feared you might—and with good reason—be angry with me."
She turned around, pasting a smile on her face. "I could never be angry with you for being honest with me, my lord." She approached his desk and sat in the chair opposite his. She could not believe that she'd just witnessed her father's burial yesterday, and here she was about to leave for who knew how long.
This would be the best thing for all. For herself, to leave the mourning behind; for Lord Elrond, that he could be assured she was not paying Elladan her attention; and for Elladan. From the comments made by both Elrohir and Elladan himself, she knew he was confused about how he felt about her—even though he'd not minced words with her the night before. If she was out of his sight, perhaps his heart would ease, and he would again consider her friend and no more. Then all she need do is forget her love for him—that was all. What could be easier?
Before she started weeping with these thoughts of hers, she explained herself to Elrond. "I wanted to see you first thing, to let you know that I've decided to accept Aragorn's offer and go to the stronghold to meet my people."
Elrond held up one hand. "Stop right there," he said. He got up from his desk, took her hand and led her to the door. Jeren wondered what he was about, but as they drew nearer to the healing halls, she knew what was on his mind: the cut on her arm, made by the Orc blade.
"I want you to make no hasty plans until I see to this injury. I might not allow you to go, if it is not well enough healed."
He sat her in a chair next to a table and began gathering things he would need. Jeren took off her tunic so that he could see her arm. When he had everything he required, he took up the scissors and cut the bandage. After he'd washed away the poultice, he peered at the wound, for what Jeren thought was much too long.
At last he straightened and told her, "It is very much better today. I think the infection has mostly cleared, although the wound still gapes some." He went to a cabinet and palmed a small pot of salve. He slathered it on the wound generously. He then took up a bandage and wrapped it tightly around her arm.
"Leave this on for at least today. When next you bathe, you may remove it and if the wound still is not closed, have Estel stitch it for you. I think that won't be necessary, though. It is well on its way to recovery."
Jeren knew these actions of Elrond's were merely a stalling tactic. She'd seen him work much faster before, when he wasn't saddened by the fact that the one he was tending was going to leave him.
"Thank you, Lord Elrond," Jeren said. She got up from the chair, all the while fighting back tears. Her life was in such turmoil; she knew not which way to turn. She hoped the way she was going was the right way. "I suppose it is time I was gone. I want them not to leave without me."
She felt as if she were calm and collected, but something in her face must have given her away. Elrond pulled her into his embrace. He held her thusly for how long, she couldn't tell. She was too busy trying to keep herself from weeping uncontrollably.
He finally held her away from him, but kept his hands on her arms. His eyes sparkled with tears he would not shed. "I do not want you to leave," he told her. "I want you always with me. But I know that, too, is selfish, and I cannot have things both ways. I would thank you, but it seems an empty thing. You are a much better person than I will ever be."
She couldn't help herself; she flung herself back into Elrond's arms and wept desperately. For so many reasons—for being alone in the world with no one to guide her in life; for being so frustrated by everyone who would not give her the chances she needed to prove herself; for being afraid that her love for Elladan would not go away and for devastating Lord Elrond when it didn't. But mostly for being terribly scared that she'd fail at it all.
She did not cry for long. After only minutes she stood up straight and tall and wiped her eyes with her fingers. She sniffed, taking a good, deep breath. Her control was back in seconds. She gave Elrond a small smile.
"I'd better go tend to Two," she said, her voice just slightly tremulous. "Please, do not come see me off; I'd not want a repeat of that performance in front of the others."
He smiled at her. "Very well, dear one. You are my dear one, no matter what we discussed last night. I loved you before I knew you and Elladan had been together, and I love you still. That will never change." He looked into her eyes, the look that he gave when he wanted to make sure the person to whom he was speaking got the message. "You always—always—have a place here, no matter what happens."
Jeren could feel the tears threatening again, so she nodded and smiled. She wiped at her eyes one more time, and then left the room. Elrond made his way back to his study, and stood at the window, which overlooked the valley. He stood there a very long time, until he could see the riders leaving Rivendell, on their way to the stronghold.
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