Chapter 26: The Mirror
Chapter Text
Beta: Anarithilien – wonderful, tirelessly generous.
Thank you to all those who reviewed –iiionly, ThisLittlePiggy,Pilvi, Dimaranien, Alanic, EtheleFeanorian,, Freddie, cheekybeak, aerial-whispers, Encairion, Curiouswombat, Spiced Wine, Naledi, Melusine, and of course all those who left kudos on Ao3.
Chapter 25: The Mirror
She knew that Elrohir did not sleep. She felt his restlessness and rose silently from her own bed, pushing her hands through her long hair and as impatiently as Artanis might, shoved it back into a long tail like a warrior. She was quiet for Celeborn had accused her already that she could not leave them alone, and she would not share with him the dreams that troubled and tempted her and truly kept her awake.
The bright souls standing guard at the Door to the Void…still within reach for One who had the Power…She could roll back Time, change the Past. Bring her daughter home… Elrohir so full of anguish that she could not quite reach, could not quite understand…Eru could not have wanted this, Arda Marred?
She could not leave it alone. Celeborn said as much earlier, catching her hand he had said, I know what you do.
'I know what you do.'
She turned. Celeborn leaned on one elbow watching her. His long silver hair pooled on the white sheets that had slipped down over his strong chest, his flat stomach and showed the beginning of light hair at his groin. He was naked and his blue eyes pierced her with desire. She felt the stab of lust in her womb. The heat of him swelled around her, a complex blue shot through with starlight and love. An erotic heat. But she would not yield.
Come back. He filled her head with images of them together, his hand on her breast, his mouth on hers, his body hard against her. I know what you seek. Do not. And though he did not speak it, she sensed anxiety, that he might lose more than he could bear.
When she did not yield to him and come back to bed, he thinned his lips. You are too impatient.
Is that not why you loved me? She threw back at him.
His eyes flashed with something; recognition. Loved? Do you think I love you no more?
'No. That is not what I think.' She bowed her head, for she did feel his love for her. She closed her eyes for a moment and then said, 'I want to understand.'
'Leave them be,' he said, rising from the bed but irritably. His cock hung heavy between his thighs. Her body remembered the thickness of it, the weight. 'Give them some privacy. They are not children,' he said and shoved aside the thin veil that closed off the starlight. He stood looking out over the treetops, his back to her and the moonlight gleamed in his long silver hair that she had loved but now only reminded her of their daughter. She could not bear it.
'They are my blood. My flesh.' The words burst from her.
'You wish to fill your senses with them!' He turned towards her then, accusing, 'You want to absorb the sense of them into your skin, breathe them,' he said and took two strides to stand before her so close she could feel his breath. His blue eyes pierced her anew and he saw her. Let them be!
'Yes. That is what I want to do,' she admitted angrily. 'Why is that so deserving of your recrimination? I will not intrude! I will not pry into their thought!' Though she knew she would. And so did he. They are all I have left of her. A wave of agony tore through her like the birth pangs she remembered with vivid clarity; she clung to that pain in her guilt. It made Celebrián real.
A gasp of shared anguish shot through her breast and he pulled her to him. She fell against him and he kissed her. Not gently, not in remorse or sorrow. But in loss and anger. He crushed her and bruised her mouth, their teeth clashed and her mouth opened under him. Ugly. Demanding. Angry. She did not care either and gripped him with her hands, dug her nails into his neck so he bit down on her. She wanted to hurt him, to rake him with her nails and beat against his chest. Her blood surged and lust flared, the lust that came from anger; she knew it well. Rutting. Not love. Not even sex but some base, bestial urge that came from something deep, buried, that writhed with a furious bitter anger, that keened in her womb…
Until they shoved each other away in despair and shame for their sweet daughter had been ripped apart by the same act. Not the same act, she thought. But close enough that every time they touched, it brought a horror and shame and slowly, slowly killed desire.
She did not look at him as she shoved past him.
'I love you,' he said as she pushed past and pulled away from him. She did not look back.
You no longer know what that means.
She felt him recoil from her, and felt the over-familiar burst of contempt, for him. For herself. Cold as the Helcaraxë she was. Hard. Bitter as when she stood upon the shores of Ennor for the first time and the light of the Trees in her eyes, standing with Finrod and Fingon, thin and hard all of them, swearing revenge upon Feänor and his sons. Bitter with cold and loss. Furious at their betrayal and abandonment. Fierce with revenge and lust.
Fingon had sworn to kill Nelyo, beautiful Nelyo, beloved Nelyo. Turgon had said he would help.
Of course, by then Nelyo was already dead, and in his place was Maedhros. As hard and bitter as she…No. Not as bitter at first. But by the end he would have done anything. She was as bitter now. She would do anything to stop the anguish. She would do anything to turn back time and stop her headstrong child from leaving.
She remembered the images in the Mirror too…the iron crown. Elrohir. If she could, she would stop him too. She did not yet know how…but the glimmer of thought suggested itself to her…the answer to everything seemed to be closer and closer. The news her grandsons had brought changed everything.
She called to them then, sent out shadowed thoughts to her daughter's sons, softly, a mere suggestion for any command would have her reeling from the onslaught of Elrohir's disdain, his fury.
It was cold in the shadowed garden. In the dark, the Mirror waited. Its star-blasted surface was blank until she leaned over it and saw her face reflected, as it always was. Clear. Darkened but clear. There were no wounds, no scars this time to show. Not now. Ice maiden. Artanis. Man-woman. She did not care.
The One was found. This time it would be different. This time, it could be Arda Restored. Healed. It could be as they envisaged those long, long ages ago in Aman when Feänor spoke of Ennor as it should be.
She found her hand trembling as she drew Nenya across the glass, awoke it from its slumber. So soon after she had looked into it, its Power was drained, had not had time to replenish. Nenya flared and sparked it, lent it Power.
The One was on its way here. That was what the Mirror had showed her earlier, she knew now.
The little pinched face appeared almost immediately now. And she knew now that this was the Hobbit, the Ringbearer. Frodo Baggins. He would give her the Ring. She saw it.
And then…
….such Power. Such Curvë! You see it. Want it.
Yes, she agreed. I want that.
To bring her back?
Yes. I would part the threads of Time with the One.
Even Sauron did not know how to do that but she had learned, the hard lessons, the crushing mastery of the Rings. If she had Narya and Vilya too…she would part the Threads of Time, draw it back…
Change the world…
Yes, she said and felt her fists clench. Change the World.
You would defy the Valar again? Unrepentant! Exile!
Yes. She had not cared then and she did not care now. Except she could not return. But the Ring… that gave her Power. I would tear apart the Veil of Aman to bring her back. Bring them ALL back.
All of them. Her bright, glorious brother, her magnificent cousins…And Celebrián. Especially. Her womb constricted, anguish stabbed her. She pressed her fist against her belly.
I would never let her leave.
The voice faded on a whisper, like a sigh, not on her daughter's name but her brother's.
Ahhhh. Findaráto.
She touched her fingers to her brow and bent over the Mirror, frowned. Surely that inner voice was her own inner secret and desire?
The Mirror rippled and cleared. Smoke, she realised, drifted across a wide plain and slowly she saw an army drawn up on two hillocks. Men, she thought. Frightened. Determined. Facing death. This was Gondor. This is the future, she realised and the ranks of Men parted and stirred and she saw Elrohir.
He was magnificent. How tall, how beautiful his face, and stern in its nobility. He strode between the frightened and exhausted Men and spoke to them as he passed, so they looked up at him with renewed hope. Ahead of him, almost at the summit of the hill stood a man, no. An Elf. His pale gold hair like a pennant in the wind, a long Galadhrim bow slung across his broad shoulders. Elrohir strode to where the bright archer stood and he looked up at Elrohir's coming, his face filled with a confused mix of trepidation and a fierce joy, and Elrohir seized him and kissed him fiercely...No, she whispered. Not Elrohir. Such a difficult path. Such barren love, against the Laws. It was not Haldir. Then who?
The Mirror changed again; Elrohir was riding a black horse on a battlefield... A winged terror swooped and tore the black horse to shreds...An iron crown. An iron ring…
She knew she cried aloud then and the Mirror rippled and surged around her and she forced it to still and show her more...but the threads were unravelling and disturbed and she could not bring them back for she was so troubled by what she saw.
No! That will not be his fate! He will never wear an iron crown. Such base metal. Mithril he will wear, a different crown for he is most like me…I would make them kings in their own lands. Gil-Galad would be as nothing compared with our dominion.
Trembling, she drew back, sent a subtle summoning, drawing his attention towards her. It was merely a soft pulse that shivered through him, bringing his feet turning this way and forgetting what he had first intended. Now she would wait.
She arranged herself so her presence was imposing, unassailable. She did not have to wait long for her intrepid, impatient grandson.
Footsteps trod softly on the wet slate steps. Took them each one, slowly as if unwilling. Then Elrohir emerged from the shadows into the moonlight where she stood, Nenya flashed once to remind him who she was and she felt a wave of pain, ripped with the same deep anguish as she.
His mouth was a thin line of resentment and he glared at her. There was no forgiveness, no empathy for a shared loss. Nothing but fury.
'Did you think I would not know your summons?' he spat.
Almost she smiled. Of course he would know. He was powerful and strong and only his fury blinded him to the possibilities. She tilted her head to look at him better and held out her hand to him. 'Forgive me this one thing then, Elrohir. The Mirror has things to show you.'
'The Mirror lies!' he said with such contempt that she almost stepped back and for a moment he was beyond her control. She felt the rushing charge building of his crimson anger, rage and met it with her own Power, raised a shield against him but it was barely enough. 'It did not show you your daughter's fate!'
She sent a wall of ice-blue shattering against him and Power exploded in the garden. Crimson shot through Nenya and Nenya absorbed it, glimmered with purple lights and red falling stars. They fell forever…
Do you think I do not say the same to myself? Do you not think I would give myself to have spared her?
He took a step towards her, imposing, intimidating…except she was Artanis. She had crossed the Ice, faced Morgoth. She had defied the Valar.
She commanded him. Still thyself.
And he did. Grey eyes glared at her, mouth a thin line. 'Why did you let her leave? Why didn't you know?' He turned away from her, fists clenched like he wanted to hit her.
You cannot make me feel any worse pain than I feel! She opened up to him and let him feel her anguish, the dreadful, dreadful loss. Pray you never lose a child!
He staggered back, lips parted, staring.
'Then show me your damned Mirror,' he said at last.
She drew him towards the darkened glass and struck Nenya against its edge, cutting the lines across it, parting the darkness that when Elrohir looked within, swirled and was edged with crimson. She could never see what another saw but she saw his face, felt his storm of emotion. His hands gripped the edge of the Mirror at one point and she almost touched him… but he was dangerous and she knew better.
At last he fell back and she watched him, the frightened child beneath the mask of steel, the fear that seized him for a moment. Slowly he composed himself enough to look at her. 'It only shows what may come to pass,' he said. And then added grimly,' This will not come to pass.'
'You saw the Black Gate,' she said earnestly. 'Elrohir! You must not go there. You must not go to Mordor.' She stared up into his grey eyes, dark with turmoil, and said emphatically, 'They will have you as their own.'
He turned his head so she could not see his face.
But still she stood before him and looked up into his beautiful, impassive face that he had turned away and hid so much pain, so much anguish that he would not share. She pushed gently at the shields he had locked about himself and he flinched.
'No!' He threw up a hand to ward her off. 'Do not look there.'
She paused, searching his grief-stricken face. She wished he would look at her, then she could see. For there was more. Far more here than simple grief and guilt…
No!
A wave of crimson surged towards her and she raised her own hand, a shield of ice-blue, so the rage broke against her and washed away harmlessly.
What do you hide in the shadows of your heart? Oh how she yearned to brush away the pain, to stroke his hair as she used to when she found her child crying. But the images in the Mirror tore at her – a dark ring, an iron crown. Shadows crowded around Elrohir, trod at his heels. Fear for him so great it almost made her tremble. The Nazgûl hunted him.
They will know, Elrohir. I know what you saw! They will know and seek you out, find the treasure you hoard and use it against you. ' Tell me that I may help you!' she burst out.
No.
There is nothing so dark that I cannot endure it. I have already seen everything man can do to man.
'If you do not leave me be,' he suddenly said through gritted teeth, 'I swear I will strike you down.' His eyes turned upon her dark and violent and suddenly he was no longer her grandson; it was the face of one who could slay his own kin. It was the same blood after all, and had not Elrond been raised by kin-slayers? Those wretched sons of Feänor. Her disowned and dispossessed cousins, thrice cursed. She stood strong and straight for she would not be cowed, not then and not now. But he met her gaze without a flinch and she knew she would not penetrate the shield he had locked against her.
This would accomplish nothing, she knew. And she sighed.
'I do not wish to anger you,' she said softly. She wanted to stroke his cheek, to soothe him, but did not dare. 'I wish to ease your suffering my dear.' She stepped back then, wondering if she had pushed too far and that Celeborn may have been right. 'I wish only to put you on your guard against Sauron and his Nazgûl. They will hunt you.'
He was unyielding. His back stiff and straight as hers, his grey eyes did not look away and his face was a mask of steel. She wondered where the little boy had gone; who had run to her holding up muddy hands, dropped butter on her dress, snuggled against her breast with milky softness. Instead here was the Son of Thunder. Nothing to do with Elrond, she thought bitterly. Everything to do with their Finwëan blood.
And then he was gone, the soft sound of his boots on the steps faded into the quiet of the night. She had lost him.
0o0o
Elrohir strode from the garden in agitated fury. He was angry with himself for succumbing to the Mirror; on previous visits he had resisted and resisted. And now the images he had seen were baffling, confusing and infuriating.
Oh he had seen the Nazgûl and seen himself before the Black Gates but that was no surprise. He and Elladan had come across Nazgûl in the Wilds and hunted them as they had been hunted themselves; it was part of the cycle of war. But what truly baffled and infuriated him beyond reason was why in all the Hells was Legolas Thranduillion in the Mirror? Why did he have any part in Elrohir's future? Or a maybe future, he reminded himself fiercely. There had been one image of Legolas standing on the battlements of Minas Tirith – for he recognized it- lost in a rapture with the wind pulling back his long, long hair and a winged shadow falling over him. It roused him beyond reason, and made him so angry that he thought he might hurt someone.
He strode along the winding paths between the silvered trees, unaware of the serene beauty of the night. He hated Lothlorien; it was stuck like a boulder in a river as the world flowed and changed outside, nothing changed here. It was stagnant. She kept it like this because it suited her.
He made for the stables, because to go back to the talan would be to disturb Elladan and he had done that enough in the last few weeks. He always found stables places of peace and restfulness.
Barakhir nickered softly to him as he entered and Baraghur swung his head over the half door in his direction and intelligent soft eyes watched him. He stroked Barakhir's velvet nose and the horse snuffed at him, blew and nuzzled. He rested his hand on the horse's white blaze and bowed his head.
Sometimes, he thought, when it was all too much, he felt like saddling up Barakhir and just the two of them riding off somewhere, amongst lawless Men, who did not ask questions and who did not need elaborate lies and excuses…Except he had tried that once. …There had been a time, one winter when he had fallen into such company….It had not been Barakhir then, but Ferendir, he remembered fondly. His faithful horse had finally rebelled against his headlong ride into self-destruction, and brought him home.
He bowed his head and clenched his fist. No. He did not want that again. But he could not bear this…
Seeking peace in routine, he went into the feed store and mixed up a second feed for their horses, for it had been a long journey and he did not overfeed them when they arrived. Once he had settled Barakhir and Baraghur and could hear the soothing munching, he filled their hayracks with dry, sweet hay and settled himself brushing Baraghur, Elladan's horse, for he knew better than to groom Barakhir when he was feeding. As he brushed, he let his mind settle with the repetition and soothing sound of horses, the gentle snuffling. Even when he had finished, he simply leaned on the stall door and listened, breathed with them and found it restful.
'I think the first time I saw you was like this. Leaning over a stable door,' a voice came. He froze. 'You were so young…so tender.' He remembered that time too; he had been young. Too young for what Haldir had wanted, had seen in him.
'What do you want, Haldir?' he said as coldly as he could.
Haldir stepped into the light. His long blond hair gleamed and a cool smile played about his lips. But Elrohir knew it was feigned and beneath the veneer was someone far from cold.
'You know what I want,' Haldir said in a low voice. He came closer this time, let his hand drift around Elrohir's arm and trail along his sleeve.
Elrohir steeled himself for his body remembered and treacherously responded to the huskiness, the whisper, remembering a different time and a different place. 'Leave me be. He shrugged away Haldir's hand. 'You would shame me in my grandmother's own city?'
'Shame you?' Haldir stared at him and lifted his hand to Elrohir's face. 'That is not what you thought before. No. I freed you, gave you permission to do things you wanted, I wanted.'
'That time has long gone,' he said harshly, pulling his arm away. 'I was different then.'
'You are older now, true. And harder. A warrior. You are not the boy I first loved…But your desires are not changed whatever you might say.' Haldir leaned against the stable door, close enough for Elrohir to feel the heat of him against his arm. He pulled away angrily.
'I barely knew I wanted anything much less what it was I wanted.'
'That is not true, Elrohir,' said Haldir with that impertinent arrogance that made Elrohir's hands itch. 'You wanted. Every line of you was shaking with lust.' Haldir followed him, too close. Elrohir swung round to stare at him, fists clenched. 'Earlier when you arrived, though you scorned me, I could smell your desire.' Haldir leaned in, let his long pale hair slide down his shoulder, and looked at Elrohir obliquely. For some insane reason that Elrohir could not fathom, he was reminded of Legolas Thranduillion. Almost, he seized Haldir. Almost he crushed him into an aggressive, harsh kiss…but he did not. He battled himself and the throbbing desire in his balls. But Haldir knew him too well; he stroked a finger down his arm, circled the back of his hand with his own finger, let his eyes lower in submission. Elrohir felt his eyes close and his lips parted in a breath of desire.
'Do not pretend to yourself that you were an innocent.' Haldir's voice was low, breathless. 'You have never been innocent. You have never been a victim…' He lifted his gaze to Elrohir now, eyes heavy with lust. 'You have always taken what you wanted…'
Elrohir breathed. The air was suddenly close. He thought he might swoon with the scent of musk, of desire. His cock was stiff and aching.
'Oh come, Elrohir!' Haldir's laugh was mocking, sensual. 'You were hardly unwilling…and even now, I see the passion ignite in you…Do you not wish me to pleasure you?' He leaned in close and his breath was warm against Elrohir's ear. 'Is this a game? Do you wish me to kneel before you and beg?'
Elrohir gasped. He could not speak.
'I know what you want.' Haldir pressed up against him, shoved his hard cock against Elrohir's thigh, and murmured, even closer now. 'You should punish me for my disregard of the Laws.' He laughed softly, and the sound of it inflamed Elrohir further. He sank to his knees, clasping Elrohir's thigh. 'Here. Is this what you want?' His hot breath was on Elrohir's thigh, mouthing kisses, nipping at him.
'Stop!' Elrohir shoved Haldir away from himself, wanting. 'Do not…I never wanted that…perversion.' He stared at Haldir, seeing the full lips curl, the arrogance on the eyes kindle and bridle at his accusations. It made him so hard, he thought he might burst if he did not take this Elf down and thrust him against the wall, hurt him so he begged…
A bruised, tear-stained face peered up at him unseeing, a lip cut and bleeding moved in soundless pleading. Blue eyes that had only ever looked upon him with love, cornsilk hair matted and knotted, dirty as soiled straw…begged him not to hurt her…
'No!' It was almost a sob. He no longer saw Haldir, he only saw the bruised face, heard the pleading. 'Get off me, Haldir!' He shoved Haldir hard, pushing him away. That smell made him gag suddenly. It was the same smell on his poor mother's thighs and he felt his stomach churn and bile burned his throat.
'No!' he said again, denying more than Haldir. 'Get out of my sight while you still can. You perverted me, corrupted me! I was too young to know any different. You should have protected me not seduced me, not corrupted me! You have destroyed me!' He flung himself from the wall, pushed Haldir from him when he followed and then turned, eyes flashing, crimson rage building to a storm. 'Do not touch me! Ever! Do not speak to me! Ever. I will kill you if you touch me again.' He ignored Barakhir's anxious whinny and strode from the stable into the cold moonlight.
He did not know where to go now. Everywhere he felt he was watched, spies or the Mirror intruding, pursuing him. He wanted to get out of Lorien as fast as he could.
He stopped, breathing hard and leaned against a great mallorn tree. The tree did nothing. It was a tree, he told himself. The silvans were fools if they imagined the trees gave a damn about them. Singing their songs and gazing at the stars when the world crumbled around them and Sauron beat them as he would iron, beat them down and down, hammering until they were flattened by war.
He was bursting with need, with lust. He wished he had indeed taken Haldir now and rammed him against the wall of the stable until he wept, until he begged, until he bled. It was Haldir's fault he was corrupt.
He found his teeth clenched like his fists so hard he might break them and stopped. He rubbed his hands over his face and walked towards the river. He would plunge himself into its cold depths and cleanse himself of these impure, perverted thoughts. He hated Haldir. He hated himself more.
0o0o
Moonlight pooled on the silver wood floor, caught on the edges of the thin muslin veils that fluttered in a light wind. Elladan listened to his brother step quietly on to the ladder that curled round the tree, and the step creaked once and then there was no more sound until he heard the soft creak of leather as Elrohir dropped his leather jerkin on the floor and pulled off his boots.
Elladan listened but did not speak. He thought perhaps that Elrohir had gone to meet with Haldir although his initial greeting was the coldest he had ever seen from Elrohir. There was clearly more to know about their relationship that Elladan knew of for Elladan had only had brief and cursory encounters with Haldir.
He frowned, wondering what had happened. On their first visit to Lorien, they had met the Marchwarden and he had shown interest in the young sons of Celebrián. Indeed, Elladan had wondered if his brother was infatuated. It happened. Had he not felt the same about Erestor once? Elladan had been a gangly adolescent admiring a sophisticated, urbane man, all charisma and presence and notoriety. At that age it had been glamorous, exciting; everything he had wanted for himself. But Erestor had been kindness itself, careful with Elladan's feelings to the point of frustration. And there had been nothing in their later visits to suggest the adolescent infatuation had been anything more, or lasted beyond those few months. Now Elladan wondered if those solitary hunting trips where Elrohir had disappeared for months on end in the Wilds and returned either strangely elated or plunged into misery, had been with Haldir. He wondered even more about the one time in deep winter when he had returned in deep despair and with those strange wounds that only Elladan knew about.
Elrohir's emotions always ran so deep, tempestuous. It was bound to end unhappily, Elladan thought sadly. He wished he could help his brother find happiness.
A boot scraped against the floor and he heard Elrohir still, obviously hoping not to wake Elladan himself.
Elladan sighed and said, 'I am already awake. You do not need to creep around like a bad tempered and rather clumsy old mouse.' He opened his eyes, smiling to see that Elrohir had his back to him and his head was bowed. He was half- naked and stood only in his black leather breeches with his long black hair falling over his shoulders, hiding his face.
He reached out with his own blessing of calm and blue peace, to find the ragged edge of Elrohir's fury dulled and blunted. He could feel Elrohir was exhausted and misery drenched him through. Elladan felt his own heart clench at his own powerlessness to change anything.
'Elrohir?' he said, throwing his own blankets back and reached out to his brother. 'Tell me what ails you. Tell me what I may do to ease your heart.'
Elrohir sank onto the edge of Elladan's bed and put his head in his hands.
'I am beyond all help, Elladan. Do not waste your time on me.'
Elladan drew his arm around Elrohir's shoulder and cradled him against his shoulder. Elrohir resisted at first and then gave in, leaned against Elladan and hid his face against his chest.
Elladan sank his own Power deep into his skin, to soak Elrohir's desolate loathing in calm and peace. 'I know you hate this place,' he said softly, leaning his cheek on the top of Elrohir's head. 'Everything is more complicated here.'
His brother's muffled voice reached him then. 'I do not want to be who I am,' he said. 'I wish it would end.'
Elladan felt his chest squeeze in love and sorrow for his poor, tormented brother.
'Hush, do not say such things. I love you for who you are, what you are. I could not bear to be without you.' He pressed his cheek against the top of Elrohir's head. 'Let us return to Imladris, find Erestor, warn him of the danger we have sensed. We will give father our tidings and word from Galadriel. Then we will leave. Perhaps go with Aragorn.'
'Do you mean to Gondor?'
'Yes. Perhaps join the fight. We are both better away from here. And we cannot stay in Imladris.' Though in his heart Elladan wished he could indeed find rest and linger in Imladris. 'Or we could ride with Halbarad and draw the Eye away from Aragorn perhaps.' He stroked Elrohir's head like he was a child. 'We will leave as soon as day breaks.'
0o0o0