Beta: The truly fabulous and generous Anarithilen. (We should try and persuade her to pick up her pen again! Check out her wonderful stories her on ffnet)

Thanks to reviewers for kindly encouraging, freddie, ninui-ithil, LayneWolf, mcapps, Nako13yeh, Melusine, cheekybeak, Spiced Wine, Encairion, Naledi. As well as those who have favourited this or sent Kudos on Ao3.

Notes:

Tyelpo - shortened from Telperinquar (stem Telperinquár-) was Celebrimbor's Quenya father-name, meaning "Silver-fist"

astra: Quenya for part or divisions. In the sense it is used here it refers to particles. There is no way that the Palantir or Galadriel's Mirror could have been invented without deep understanding of physics and here Erestor and Elrond are discussing Celebrimbor's discussion with Maedhros of Quantum mechanics and the copper screen experiment. Nirmë is the word for physics, but obviously it would be different from our understanding- after all, elves are immortal. Imagine if Einstein had lived for thousands of years.

Annatar: of course was the name that Sauron went by when he deceived Celebrimbor into making the Rings of Power.

Reminder: Elwing inherited the stolen Silmaril from her father. She held it in Sirion and eventually the sons of Feänor demanded it. When she refused to hand it over, they attacked. The result was the third kinslaying and Elwing threw herself into the sea with the Silmaril rather than let Maglor and Maedhros have it. She left her twin boys behind however, Elros and Elrond, and they were then taken by the Fëanorians, first as possible hostages for the return of the Silmaril (IMO) and then who then grew to love them as their own.

Chapter 16: Secrets

Erestor stood at the long windows of his study, watching the storm clouds gather over the mountains. He had been at Elladan's side for hours and hours, only briefly tearing himself away to bid farewell to Glorfindel. He had sat and watched Elladan's pale, wraith-like face, with the pooling of his blood beneath his white skin showing like bruises. And Elrond beside him. They had watched together until finally Elladan had shifted and let out a deep sigh…And his eyelids had fluttered open.

Grey eyes, clear as water, had looked up at them with muddled astonishment but it was Elladan who had looked out, not some wraith. And Erestor nearly choked with relief. He felt as if he had been carrying a heavy load of stones over his shoulders and someone had just told him to put them down. There were tears of course, unashamed and glad and Arwen had been summoned and they had clung together in joyful relief. And Elladan had stared at him, smiled wanly and whispered his name. His name.

Erestor found himself pressing his hand against his heart with unaccustomed tears pricking at his eyes. Elladan's hand had reached for him and that had made his heart leap in his chest and pound furiously. But he suppressed it with a ruthlessness he usually only kept for Orcs and Wargs. He would not let hope flicker, and he would not give Elladan any encouragement either; he was a wicked old Feänorian, old friend of Elladan's own father, his senior by Ages. And completely unsuitable for anything but a guardian.

So now, although the elation remained, Erestor watched the darkness descending over the Valley, and forced himself to think instead upon other matters; beyond the walls of Imladris, terrible danger that pursued his friends, Glorfindel in one direction, and Gandalf in the other.

Surely Glorfindel had reached Amon Sûl? It had been days since they rode out and bar accidents, mishaps…attack, they should be there and ranged upon the heights of the old watchtower. He wondered if Glorfindel feared anything for he had faced Angmar in his own fortress long ago, and had not slain that restless evil. He could not.

No man shall slay thee.

Glorfindel's own prophesy lingered now like the ring of a bell. No man. Then what? A woman? Perhaps they should have sent some with the men, thought Erestor bitterly for the women had fought when Himring was falling, they had fought when fleeing from Ost-in-Edhil, when Beleriand fell…

He shivered. The cold of winter bit down now and he turned away, but it was never as cold as Himring. Snow fell slowly on Himring. Endlessly. Bitter winds swirled the flakes and they could barely see the gates of the fortress. There the winter frosted the walls inside as well as out and cracked stone. Maedhros used to stand on the high walls of the fortress glaring at Thangorodrim as if his gaze alone would break the mountains apart. When Erestor ran out into the snow and threw the silver-grey wolf fur over his shoulders, Maedhros barely noticed.

…It was worse in Amon Ereb.

Restless ghosts murmured in the stones of that last stronghold; Caranthir, Curufin, Celegorm. Ambarussa, whom they buried within those walls. But even as Maedhros stood over that sad mound of stones, all knew that the only ghost he saw was Fingon. He whispered Fingon' name into the cracks of the walls, let the wind take the name from his mouth and blow it into the air, followed him unseen along the cracked and ruined walls.

His despair was unconquerable.

Maglor gave up trying to kindle his last brother's interest in anything and only the Oath remained to heat his blood and bones. But there was no Fingon to speak reason, to give him hope and then Elwing gave her final word that she would never give over the Silmaril for it was precious to her beyond all other jewels, beyond life itself.

Beyond even her own sons it seemed.

They snatched the boys to bargain with Eärendil for the Silmaril supposedly set upon his brow, although Maedhros sneered at the very idea and said the Valar would keep it close, would lock it away. But they took the abandoned children anyway. When it came to pass that the danger was so great that they could no longer hold even Amon Ereb, they wrung that last promise from Erestor that he would take the boys to Lindon and Gil-Galad. In doing so, they gave up all hope of bargaining with Eärendil the Silmaril for his sons. For by that time, those two beloved children had wound their songs about the hearts of Feänor's last remaining sons and they were as their own children, children they never had. Or at least, Erestor thought sadly, in Maglor's case, that he never knew he had. For he had not known of Tindómion's birth, did not know that he even existed.

Erestor came back to himself before he lost himself in memory, and sighed. Then he reached for a wine goblet and poured rich red wine from the glass decanter that stood on his desk amongst the glass bottles of coloured inks and carefully stacked scrolls. He threw his head back and gulped it, barely tasted it. A waste, he told himself and did not care. He had a task to accomplish now and could no longer delay.

The remaining child, Elrond, must know what he and Glorfindel had found in Phellanthir. The Ring was beyond Elrond's reach now and could not tempt him to take it, to ride hard to the old watchtower and crack open the door to the Dark, release his foster father whom he loved more than his own blood.

It was time.

Elrond was in the forges, unusually but fittingly, and it was not long before he noticed Erestor standing in the fiery glow amid the clang of steel upon steel and the hiss of steam. A burst of fire came from the long thin tubes of oil in which the blades were quenched. Elrond glanced over at one of the apprentices and said something. The apprentice shifted his stance so that he angled the hammer slightly more acutely and then lifting his hammer, he tapped more gently at the hot metal. Elrond nodded approvingly and pulling off the heavy leather gauntlets, he approached Erestor, smiling wryly.

'I need to work,' he said simply and Erestor nodded for they shared the Noldor love of craft and though Elrond was a healer first, he was a warrior too. 'Are you joining me?' he asked with a slight smile.

Erestor returned the smile and shook his head. 'No. There is something I need to discuss with you and it will wait no longer.'

Elrond untied his leather apron and hung it over the hooks and then quickly washed his hands. Then he bent down to heave off his forge boots, which he dropped onto the stone floor under a shelf full of boots and shoes. He grinned at Erestor as he scooped up his own more familiar light leather boots from the shelf above and pulled them on. 'Let us walk a little then,' he invited. 'Perhaps to the Asgar-Lanthir.'

The smiths nodded at both Elrond and Erestor as they passed, and suddenly they were out of the hot, metal heat of the forge and into the cold night air. There was a smudge of soot on Elrond's face and Erestor smiled, lifting his hand with old familiarity to rub it off with his finger.

"You look like you were enjoying yourself,' he observed.

'I needed something physical after all the waiting, the watching over Elladan.' Elrond sighed and looked suddenly tired. Guilt gnawed at Erestor and he rubbed his own eyes.

'Now that Ash Nazg has gone, we feel a weight is gone from us,' Elrond said absently as if it had happened long ago. 'I had not realised how it oppressed us until now.'

Even after all these years it still unnerved Erestor that Elrond spoke of himself and Vilya as 'we' in this way. He walked silently beside Elrond who was also absorbed in his own thoughts, perhaps communing with Vilya as they walked through the gardens of Imladris. Erestor thought about the small Hobbit, Frodo Baggins and that heaviest of burdens; more than the Master of Imladris, Herald of Gil-Galad and descendant of the High Kings of the Noldor could bear. More than Glorfindel of Gondolin could bear. More than a wicked old Feänorian could bear certainly, he admitted to himself wryly. The memories of three nights ago lingered, the assault upon Vilya that had spurred the Fellowship to depart and Glorfindel to make his reckless flight to Amon Sûl.

'When there is nothing else useful to be done, make swords, arrows, spears,' he said leaning towards Elrond slightly, repeating Maglor's oft said phrase. 'Or practise.'

Elrond smiled briefly in acknowledgment and they walked along the elegant paths that turned and curved between the rose beds. Down wide stone steps and off a narrower path they went, drawing away from the House and up into the higher gardens that lined the Valley below the greatest of the waterfalls, the Asgar-Lanthir. Spray misted the air and Erestor breathed in the scents of mountain thyme that was crushed underfoot where they walked and the cold Winter-mint that grew in the Valley even now.

'I must tell you now what we found in Phellanthir,' he began and heard Elrond's sudden intake of breath. 'You must prepare yourself for this, Elrond. It is not easy to hear.' But he could not help himself and knew his voice trembled a little with excitement.

'I may spare you a little,' Elrond said softly though he did not halt or look at Erestor. Instead he kept his eyes upon the foaming rush of white water ahead of them, that spilled and poured from above and plunged below into the river. 'Elladan spoke much in his fever, and through Vilya during the healing, I saw something of what passed…' he explained. 'I saw the Nazgûl. I saw, felt how my son pushed you aside.' Elrond stopped and put his hand on Erestor's sleeve. 'It was his choice, my friend and I see how it grieves you still.'

Erestor could not speak for a moment; this was not what he had planned, prepared for. It was not what he had so carefully rehearsed over the days and nights since Glorfindel had departed. It was Elrond's forgiveness that hurt.

'Elladan made his choice, Erestor, for the love he bears you. I know it was not through lack of care on your part.' Elrond gently pulled Erestor round to face him though Erestor turned his face away and could not look at him.

'Never that. Through all these years,' Elrond continued, so gently, so lovingly. 'Through all these Ages of Men you have cared for me, for my children…For…' He faltered. Even now after so long, after so much tragedy, he could not speak his brother's name. Instead he added carefully, knowing that he trod delicately himself, 'Even as you were sworn. Even as you did my father's bidding though it grieved you to leave his side.'

There. It was said. And Erestor found himself drawing a breath of cold air and the fluttering in his belly of old pain and anxiety. No. I do not want to remember how he sent me from his side at that last moment. Do not speak of this.

Elrond looked at him patiently, firmly. Indeed I feel we must. For what has happened. For what is happening. Elrond pushed the words into his head, pushed past his resistance.

'What have you seen?' Erestor demanded aloud.

'I have seen my father's name writ large in your thoughts.' Elrond's voice was impossibly kind. Of course he meant Maedhros for neither Elrond, nor Elros when he lived, ever spoke of Eärendil as their father. They paced slowly, as if they spoke of nothing more than the weather, though Erestor's heart thumped in his chest.

'I have seen his ghost linger in your dreams and in all your doings,' Elrond said quietly, 'You are thinking of him, remembering. It is as if I stand there myself with you and watch as you go about your work for him.' Elrond's grey eyes were quietly insistent, questioning. 'Through your eyes I see Himring as clearly as I see my own House.' He spread his hand towards the Hall of Fire, the Commanders' Quarters where Glorfindel and his own sons dwelt. 'I have dreamed the Nírnaeth Arnoediad, how you pulled the banner from Fingon's body, how you found a horse, and joined a group of survivors, found my fathers…'

Erestor faltered then and closed his eyes, but Elrond did not relent. 'I know the love you bore him. And it is renewed. As if he had just turned the stair, just closed the door…' Elrond came round to face him, but too close so Erestor felt the warmth of his breath. 'I have seen the copper brightness of his hair… And Vilya…' He paused, and Erestor slipped his eyes open to see that Elrond was no longer looking at him, but just past Erestor's own shoulder. As if he saw something that Erestor could not see. 'Vilya whispers that he…they are close….If I but look I will see them… And I look, but they are just beyond my sight. If I but knew where to look, I might just catch their shadow…'

His eyes were glazed with Sight and Erestor knew that he was deep in his gift, images of what was past, what was now and what was yet to come flickering, surging, washing before him, one coming sharply into focus and others blurred and indistinct. Elrond's face was turned towards Erestor but still his grey eyes were faraway.

'There is a Glass through which I see but darkly. And then face to face I walk in shadow, and one whom I love and loves me walks beside me. But he comes from the shadow of death and I cannot reach him. I cannot see...He reaches out to me and I seem to touch...ah, almost...so close...and then...all dissolves in fire. Shadow, and flame. My skin burns...blood...boils...'

He shuddered and his gaze dropped to the damp grass, his hands shook.

Erestor gasped. It was the Mirror that Elrond saw, and the Balrog; he had seen how Erestor himself had sunk his hands into the Mirror and almost, almost touched Maedhros' spirit.

Erestor blinked slowly and his eyes rested upon the spectacular magnificence of the waterfall, the long, long fall of water, white as it surged and pounded over the high ledge and plunged past him, past the hanging Valley of Imladris and into the churning pool far below.

Elrond shivered and his head bowed and Erestor came to himself. With one hand firmly on Elrond's shoulder, he unclasped his own cloak and then swung it over Elrond's shoulders, gently pushed him down onto a wide stone bench that marked the viewing point.

'Sit,' he said firmly and rummaged in the pocket of his tunic for the miruvor he had brought with him, though he had not expected to use it so soon. 'Drink.'

Elrond obeyed him out of long custom and sipped a little of the cordial. Erestor took a swig himself and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He held out the bottle once again and Elrond, his eyes still distant and unfocused, waved his hand at Erestor dismissively.

Leaning forwards slightly, Elrond rested his elbows on his thighs and looked down at the frozen ground between his feet. 'That is how it has been now, Erestor,' he said in a low voice. 'Every night since Aragorn returned, for that must have been near the time you arrived in Phellanthir. I have seen things. Himring. Amon Ereb...Nargothrond...Doriath.' He breathed deeply like his chest was too tight. 'At first I did not know what I saw. But I knew it would be you who would tell me. And that you were in great danger. And then, when I felt Rhawion go from the world, I thought it was you who were gone. Or my sons.' He bowed his head. 'To my shame, when I knew it was Rhawion who had gone from the world, I felt relief before I felt horror.'

Erestor sat beside him and folded his arms over his chest, considering the white water that streamed before them, and beyond the opposite cliff was lined with black pine trees that looked miniature at this distance. 'It is not to be wondered at, Elrond. You were always too hard on yourself.' He glanced down at his companion's bent head affectionately. 'You would blame yourself for the Marring of Arda if you could,' he said gently.

And then he took a breath. He could no longer postpone the telling of it all.

Of course Rhawion's end was not why they were here now. It was the rest of the story, the Glass, the Balrog...Maedhros, that needed telling. Erestor sighed and shook his head slightly. 'It all comes back to this in the end, you know,' he said softly. 'What I must tell you now is both great and terrible.'

Beside him, Elrond was very still and then Erestor pushed himself to sit upright and leaned back against the bench, looking up at the sky.

'You already know that Celebrimbor was experimenting with Nirmë,' he began. 'He had discovered, invented...rediscovered perhaps? something he called Tumnalómë. It is similar to the Palantri.'

Elrond glanced Erestor with a slight smile. 'He was always interested in the Palantri. I remember how he would examine them, how he would touch one so it activated and then look at it from every angle. I believe he would have taken it apart had he been able.' They both smiled. 'Then he began experimenting with glass and copper. He and Maedhros talked about it…I remember one evening at supper in Amon Ereb. ' He glanced at Erestor. 'You were there.'

Erestor nodded. 'I remember. It was the Shortest Day,' he murmured quietly; it had been a rare time of peace, warmth and plenty for the last of the House of Feänor. The hunt had been good and Maglor had sung them all into reminiscence. Celebrimbor had stayed with them but only briefly; Maedhros would never let him stay for long, bidding him cut his ties with his family and preserve himself. Erestor found himself slipping into the old familiar names long forgotten by all but he and Elrond. 'Tyelpo was talking about how astra behave.' He shrugged. 'I wish I had listened more but he and my lord, your father, had moved beyond my little knowledge long before then.'

'Yes.' Elrond smiled in nostalgia. 'They had been experimenting with prisms. Tyelpo wrote to him after about how light split and how it could be different depending on how you treated the astra….I remember being excited and wanting to see for myself but of course, we could not travel at that time. It would have been too dangerous.'

What he meant by dangerous, was that Cirdan's people were still looking for him and Elros and they may well have been kidnapped. Indeed kidnapping it would have been in both Elros' and Elrond's view for by that time both called Maglor and Maedhros father and they had grown closer than blood.

This was going to be hard, Erestor knew. It was why he and Glorfindel had decided that they would wait until Ash Nazg was beyond the Valley, beyond Elrond's power.

'I must tell you first what happened before we went into the Tower. It will help you to understand what happened later,' Erestor said slowly. 'As we approached the Tower, strange things happened to us...It was as you described a moment ago, what you have seen through your gift. As you remembered my surviving the Nírnaeth Arnoediad, I knew Glorfindel's memories as if they were my own. I remembered the Balrog upon the Cristhorn as if it were I who stood against him, yet I have not the gift. I remembered falling from fire into snow.' He paused, for even now the memory was sharp and he thought about how his heart had pounded in his chest, how his limbs had felt the surge of adrenalin and he had raised his hands clasping the sword…how drops of ichor burned and steamed and hissed as they dripped from the demon into the snow. He remembered the light in Idril's hair...'I knew how it had been for Glorfindel. And he saw Himring as I had seen it.'

'He saw your memories also?' asked Elrond and lifted an eyebrow wryly. 'I hope he was not too shocked.'

Erestor grinned. 'A little perhaps. Not as much as he should have been.' He glanced obliquely at Elrond. 'You seem less surprised than I expected.'

'I was in Eregion for a while, after Annatar had left,' Elrond said slowly, thinking.'Tyelpo came to Lindon. He was afraid of what Annatar really was. He came to warn us and Gil sent me back with him to learn what I could that might help us.'

Erestor glanced at him in surprise.

Elrond said. "It was during that time when you were in Númenor as Gil's emissary,' he explained. 'I went back to Eregion with Tyelpo because he wanted someone that Tyelpo would trust.'

'There were wonders enough in Ost-in-Edhil,' Elrond continued. 'But he insisted we went to Phellanthir too and I was reluctant at first, thinking it his lesser city and there were so many treasures in Ost-in-Edhil. But he wanted to show me the Öromardé.' He glanced at Erestor. 'You know how he was when he really wanted you to do something with him.'

Erestor looked down at his hands briefly, picked at his cuticles. It hurt to remember.

'When we got there, it was clear it was a secret place. Or a guarded place at least. It was wondrous. There were the mirrors that lined the walls and the light split, like Tyelpo had talked about with Maedhros...It was like walking through rainbows.' Elrond's face was soft with remembered wonder. 'I think that is why he wanted me to see it. But that was not all. It was very strange. Those mirrors lining the walls did not only spilt the light, Erestor. They were like Galadriel's Mirror in some ways. In them, he cast memories upon the glass and they reflected them back- as if I were standing there in the same room. He showed me things that he had seen first hand and he sought to comfort me.' Elrond paused and then said quietly. 'He knew how I grieved.'

Yes, by that time, Elrond had lost Elros too of course, thought Erestor, as well as Maedhros. And of Maglor there had been no sign.

'Of course that is all gone now,' Elrond said. 'They were all gone, I was told, smashed by Sauron's minions.'

'There is one mirror still there,' said Erestor slowly. 'Still intact.'

Elrond pressed a finger against his lips thoughtfully, in a gesture learned from Maglor. 'It is a wonder that it remains.' Then he said, 'There was something more that Tyelpo was working on.' He was thoughtful. 'I have always thought it was some additional power for the Three Rings...But perhaps it was not.' He turned towards Erestor, his eyes deep, but he did not see Erestor. He was looking inward, at memories and Erestor felt Vilya's quickening and knew there was something trembling on the edges. 'Sauron destroyed Ost-in-Edhil so completely and did not raze Phellanthir as he did Ost-in-Edhil, though he slaughtered every soul left there. I always felt there was something that Sauron knew and we did not.'

Ost-in-Edhil. The bloody banner, the twitching of limbs...Erestor could not avoid it now and shoved himself to his feet and took two strides away. Elrond sat in silence, regarded him.

It was only then that Erestor recalled that Elrond had ridden with Glorfindel to Celebrimbor's aid...He would remember the burned towers, the smoke and screaming. A city utterly destroyed. Celebrimbor tortured and hoisted on a lance. He wondered if Elrond had seen the grotesque trophy. Then he glanced down and saw how Elrond's hands gripped the edge of the stone bench and knew that he had.

They were both silent for a moment. Behind them voices rang out and laughter from across the gardens. There was a burst of song from some girl and more laughter. Voices came closer and suddenly an Elf and a maid came down the path, laughing, their lightly-shod feet pattering on the cold stones. Erestor turned towards them, his face cold and forbidding. They stopped suddenly when they saw Erestor.

'Ah, forgive us, lord.'

It was Berensul and that wretched girl, thought Erestor.

'We will leave you to your... counsel.'

The cheeky knave even sketched a bow but Erestor did not miss the slightest pause before the word counsel. He narrowed his amber eyes and knowing the effect it would have, tilted his head slightly so the light from the House just caught in his eyes, making them gleam eerily, like a wolf's. And he stretched his mouth so he showed his teeth.

'Yes. Run quickly or I will catch you.' He gnashed his teeth just once for effect and was gratified to see the girl, whatever her name was, step back in fear. Berensul grabbed her hand and the pair of them scampered off.

'You should not frighten them so,' Elrond murmured gently but he had a smile on his lips.

Erestor curled his lip disdainfully. 'They need it. It keeps them in their place.' But Elrond knew him better and laughed.

'Anyone else might be fooled by you, but I have known you for too long.' He leaned back against the bench. Spray drenched the ferns and moss clinging to the wet stone.

Erestor humphed.

'Tell me what happened,' Elrond said suddenly.

Erestor let his head fall back and he looked up at the sky, a scattering of stars against the darkness. 'The one remaining mirror does not simply show what-might-have-beens or shadows of the past. It does not split the light.'

Elrond looked away and said quietly, 'After seeing what Tyelpo showed me, Galadriel's mirror has always felt incomplete to me as though it were a prototype rather than a realised thing, complete in its functions.'

Erestor leaned forwards then, his eyes alight. ''I believe it was the Glass that allowed Glorfindel and my thoughts to run together as I described, as YOU saw. I saw what he was thinking and he saw mine.'

Elrond murmured an agreement. 'There is more?'

'There is more,' Erestor agreed. And then he told him, 'It is a window into the Dark.'

Elrond gasped. 'The Dark? Celebrimbor made a window into the Dark?'

Erestor grasped Elrond's cold hands, fixed his gaze upon Elrond's.

'More than that, Elrond. When we arrived at Phellanthir, Glorfindel was assailed by a horror and dreams of Ruinátoró, the Balrog that killed him and which he killed also…He felt compelled to go to the Óromardë. As did I.'

Elrond stared and Erestor saw how fear touched the edges of his thoughts.

'Did he see the Balrog? In the Glass?' he almost whispered in his fear.

Erestor grew quiet at that and he dropped his gaze. 'Elrond, I have faced the armies of Morgoth on the plains of Anfauglith. I bore witness to our dear King's defeat at the hands of Gothmog and Coldagnir*. If it had been I who believed I would face a Balrog, I would not have wished to go…But the valiant and brave Glorfindel could no more leave Phellanthir thinking a Balrog might lurk within than could I.'

And then Elrond asked, as Erestor knew he would, 'If Glorfindel felt compelled because the Balrog was there, why dd you feel it too? And if Glorfindel could not leave Phellanthir knowing the Balrog was there, what was it that you saw?'

'My lord is there also.'

'Your lord is there?'

Erestor was silent, letting Elrond think on it, to understand, for he would know that there was but one who Erestor acknowledged as his lord. But he knew as well that Elrond believed too that Maedhros was long, long gone, burned and nothing but ash and dust in some deep place in Arda's molten core.

Elrond regarded Erestor uneasily and briefly reached out to Erestor, touched his arm with healing and peace but Erestor shook him off impatiently. 'You do not believe me!'

'How can I?' Elrond spread his hands wide. 'Even with Tyelpo's curvë, it cannot be,' he said gently and Erestor knew he was being humoured.

'It is true, Elrond,' he protested. He tried to hold Elrond's gaze, to persuade, convince him of the truth. 'In the Glass was the Balrog, Ruinátoró. It came for Glorfindel…I have not seen such a thing in all the Ages since the Tears. I swear to you, it was there for Glorfindel. It knew he was there.' Erestor saw how Elrond frowned, and slid Vilya slightly loose on his finger and stroked over the smooth jewel so that he could see….

'Here.' Erestor held out his hand to Elrond, inviting. 'I will let you look.'

He had only done this once before, let Elrond use Vilya to peer into his own memory; much as he had peered into Glorfindel's in Phellanthir. But he, Erestor, was offering this time. He wanted Elrond to see, so that he would understand…and he would see, feel it as Erestor did and so understand….

Slowly Elrond took his hand in his and cupped Erestor's long palm against him so that Vilya's soft blue radiance bathed his hand...

The Öromardé had become a furnace, the heat unbearable. The walls were red with fire. As they burst in, there was a thunderous roar. Here in this enclosed and evil place, the bellowing rage reverberated and thundered around the trembling walls. The marble floor seemed molten under the blaze of fire from the end of the Hall.

But the Glass still held.

Just.

Its thin surface bulged and undulated like the skin of water. Within, a great shape struggled and fought. Flames roared and blazed along its skin, and its great horns were blackened, wings of fire spread and filled the Glass. Its colossal fists were clenched and battered the Glass that bent and flexed like a skin and did not break.

…

A crack of silver-blue shot across the Glass. Silver swirled and turned swiftly, flashed, graceful as a shoal of silver fish, shifted and resolved into the figure of a warrior. The Balrog seemed to shuffle back, gather itself and then hurled itself against the Glass once more. The silver light leapt in front of the demon, like a blade. Where it cut, black stripes tore across the Balrog's fiery flesh and beneath its huge wings the Balrog's body was blackened and bled black ichor.

Erestor felt his heart swell with love and adulation; Maedhros. My lord! he shouted above the din. My lord!

Elrond fell back against the stone seat.

'No. It cannot not be. It cannot be!' Elrond shoved himself to his feet and strode to the edge of the grassed ledge where the water plunged past them, roaring. 'Maedhros cast himself into the furnaces of Arda because he knew the Jewels would not be safe with him, or without him. He took that final decision to destroy them before they destroyed others.' For in spite of the stories, which were only that - stories; Maglor had not cast one into the Sea and Maedhros cast one into the Fire- that was mere poetry. Maglor had been furious. Devastated. Grief-stricken.

Elrond cast his gaze about though he did not see.

Heavily, Erestor rose to his feet and came to stand beside Elrond. He carefully took Elrond's hand in his. 'It is true, Elrond. I have found him. He is there…Not whole. Not now, for the Balrog…how can I describe what happened?' He leaned forwards and fixed Elrond with his amber eyes. 'Look again. See for yourself!'

'No…no. I do not wish to see him...like that.' Elrond turned his stricken eyes to Erestor's and Erestor saw that he could not help it. Erestor closed Elrond's fingers about his and let his memory take over.

He saw again the furnace that he knew was the Öromardé. He saw the bowl of fire that was the Balrog in the Glass and when the demon drew back, he could see that the silver-blue light had coalesced now. Long hair that in life had been the colour of the Balrog's fire streamed out in the wind and the silver-blue figure in the Glass turned his scarred, still noble face towards Erestor in bewilderment and wonder.

Elrond gasped in agony and loss, and clutched Erestor's sleeve. 'Ah! Atar!' he cried.

Erestor's heart clenched, for he had been close behind Maedhros in Sirion when they broke down the doors to Elwing. Too late to see Elwing go over the edge and plunge into the sea, Erestor, Narmó as he was then, had only seen the tall flame-haired Maedhros standing over Elrond and Elros amongst the wreckage of Sirion, bloody sword in hand and staring out of the window where their mother had leapt. He was shouting, furious, spittle flying from his lips and when he turned and saw the brothers, his eyes were terrifying. It had been Maglor who scooped them up, shouting at his brother and thrust Elrond at him. But Maedhros had also turned the child's face into his chest, wrapped his red cloak about him so Elrond could not see what they passed through, so he could only hear the thumping of that indomitable heart as they rode away.

Elrond had grown to love Maedhros with an intensity he only later felt for his own children.

'It was Maedhros in the Glass, Elrond,' Erestor said quietly. 'He was there. It was he who defeated the Balrog, vanquished him. He fought the Balrog and defeated it but took a terrible wound. A mortal blow.' He paused, letting Elrond hear his words, to let them penetrate.

After a moment he continued, 'In the Dark,' he said as calmly as he could but he heard the tremble in his voice, 'it seems you cannot die in the sense that a physical body can die. But the fëa, which is what exists in the Dark, can be dissolved, dissipated. The light that was Maedhros broke off piece by piece, drifted away until there was nothing left…Oh Elrond! The pity of it!' He heard his own voice break then. 'How it hurts to be so torn apart, each note of your Song, each astra, drifting away lost to each other. Alone in that place.…I think they can only find each other when something happens…someone comes.' He could hear himself now, the cool logic gone and he knew he sounded mad as his own lord had been by the end. But he could not stop, not now. 'I think that the Balrog's astra were summoned, attracted, like iron filings to a magnet, when Glorfindel was near. And I think that my lord came because I was there…' He looked intently at Elrond. 'He would be drawn together, Elrond, if you were there. And I. And together, we might find a way to cut him out.'

'No!' Elrond shoved him away, not the Master of Imladris but the grief-stricken youth sent with Erestor to Balar, away from those he loved the most and who loved him while they completed finally their own destruction.

'He will come, I am certain…But I do not yet know how we release him.' Erestor ploughed on, determined that Elrond would believe.

Elrond shook his head in denial. 'Release him? To what?' he cried and strode over to Erestor. He gripped his arm so hard that it hurt, and Erestor clutched him back so they clung together.

'Release him to what, Erestor?' said Elrond, his voice broken. 'He did not want to stay.'

Erestor stared. 'Of course he did! It was the Valar that stopped him from fulfilling his Oath. They made sure that the last one is beyond his reach. Forever!'

'He did not want to stay,' Elrond repeated angrily. 'After Fingon, he could not bear it. Why would you bring him back?'

'He could not stay!' Erestor snapped. 'Not with your fucking mother taking what was his!'

'That had nothing to do with it!' Vilya snapped and sparks flew, her light spun about them like small flashes of lightning. 'It has everything to do with Fingon.'

'I cannot believe you would defend that bitch who abandoned you for a jewel that was not hers!' Erestor shoved at Elrond but it was not easy and Elrond held him close, his grey eyes searched Erestor's as if looking for the truth.

'It is long since I have even wanted to defend her! You know how I feel about them both,' Elrond said referring, Erestor knew, to both his birth parents. He pulled Erestor closer and muttered into his face, 'We have always been on the same side in this.' Erestor broke free, shoving hard at Elrond, feeling the hard body beneath the fine-spun clothes, the sinew and muscle that belied the appearance of scholar.

Elrond released him suddenly and stepped back. He covered his eyes with his hand, Vilya flashed and for a moment it seemed to Erestor that silver-blue sparks flew up and dimmed in the cold air.

All the anger and frustration evaporated and he saw Elrond, his old friend, his ward, his beloved burden and promise. He lifted his face to the sky, breathing hard.

'Forgive me, Elrond.' Erestor was suddenly filled with remorse. 'I do not know what came over me. I am sorry. I am overwrought I know. First Rhawion, then Elladan...and now our friends face the Nazgûl on one side of us and on the other, they go into Mordor.' He bowed his head penitent and he saw that Elrond's own hand trembled as it reached for him.

'If forgiveness were needed, old friend, you never need to ask for it. You have saved me, cared for me when I was sick and grieving, rescued me and mine more times that I can remember.' He pulled Erestor to him but this time, the air was suffused with sorrow, anguish but it was not only his own now but Elrond's too.

'If this had been three days ago, I would have said it was the Ring,' Elrond pulled back slightly so he could look into Erestor's eyes. 'But the Ring has passed beyond the Valley…so what is this? Forgive me old friend. I know we fight back to back.'

Erestor released Elrond, feeling a faint prickling down his spine, power, curvë flickered over him and he knew it was Vilya sensing, tasting. 'Even so, Maedhros is there.' He sighed. 'When this war is over, will you come with me? We must find a way to release him.'

Elrond clasped his hand and Erestor saw that tears pricked his eyes. Finally.

'Of course. If he is there, we cannot leave him there.'

Erestor chose to ignore the 'if' this time but there was a brighter flicker of power. He felt heat almost as if Vilya were probing him, testing him and he wondered if she had some awareness like Ash Nazg, some purpose of her own.

'You have Vilya,' he said slowly and watched Elrond's eyes flick up to catch his own and dart away again. 'She can do more than you think.' He wondered why Elrond turned his hand so Vilya was hidden, as though he suspected something of that ilk.

Erestor stared. Then slowly he reached out to grasp Elrond's arm. 'Can Vilya truly open the Door of Night? On her own?' he asked feverishly.

'I do not know,' Elrond replied uncertainly. 'But she calls to Narya and Nenya. I think she wants me to try.'

tbc.

I think there are two more chapters I think of this. Then I am going back to The Black Arrow for a bit before I get started on the sequel to this and Sons of Thunder. (that's the plan). This story will be continued in the sequel.