On the Shores of Valinor 41: Aftermath.
Maybe (miztruzt@blueyonder.co.uk)

Rating: PG-13
Characters: Elrond, Glorfindel, Círdan, Celebrían, Gandalf and others.
Disclaimer: The characters and world are the creation of Tolkien and belong to him. New Line Cinema also has rights to them, which I cannot claim. No copyright infringement or offence intended by the use of them. No profit made.
Summary: In the land of Valinor, Elrond has an unexpected encounter.
Notes: 1) This is set after Return of the King, when Elrond and others of Middle-earth have departed for the West and the Undying Lands.
2) Interpretations of rebirth are from Morgoth's Ring.
Thanks to Nienna for betaing.

Elrond stood in silence until the door closed behind Glorfindel and Cirdan, then took a cautious step toward Ereinion.

"Are you going to stay this time?" Ereinion asked, lifting his head briefly.

"I am sorry," Elrond began, but Ereinion cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Oh hush, you do not have to apologise. You have spent the night playing keeper to me I hardly blame you for wanting a little space. Maybe you should find me a cage or something – and throw away the key so I stop doing such foolish things." His voice dropped and he added bitterly, "Or perhaps I can become some form of rare exhibit."

Confusion crinkled Elrond's brow and he took another step toward his lover.
"Ereinion?"

Gil-galad looked up at him, sighing.
"Nothing."

Elrond knelt beside him, laying a hand gently on his knee.
"Do you need anything?"

Ereinion's weary expression faltered for a moment. He started to shake his head and then paused. His words were so soft Elrond could scarcely hear them.
"Tell me you love me."

Elrond rose on his knees, placing his hands on Ereinion's shoulders and meeting the wretched dark blue gaze.
"You know I do," he whispered, his features suffused with that same emotion. "I love you, Ereinion Gil-galad. Now and always."

Ereinion's eyes closed again, and he tilted his head back, a sigh escaping his lips.
"I hoped that would make all this seem better," he said, and then shook his head. "But it does not."

Elrond cupped his lover's tension-riddled visage in his hands, forcing Ereinion to look at him.
"I appreciate that this is merely a distraction..." he murmured, and brought his lips gently to Ereinion's.

Strong arms slid to embrace him and Ereinion's lips parted willingly beneath his own.
"But the distraction is appreciated none the less," Ereinion whispered, his breath stirring warmly against Elrond's ear.

When they parted, Ereinion sighed again. "A nice attempt, Elrond, but sadly..."

"I know. It is not enough."

Ereinion nodded. "I just want to forget last night ever happened."

Elrond stared at him. The anguish he had felt in his beloved upon the beach had not receded, despite the brittle semblance of composure Ereinion had thus far mustered. There was a way, a way to put that look out of his eyes. The use of narcotic herbs, in the right combination, could suppress the deep mental meanderings of the elven mind, conscious or unconscious… Elrond shook his head to banish his thoughts. Ignore it and it will go away? You know better than that, he chided himself, images of Glorfindel's horror rising in his mind.

"Sorry, beloved," Elrond said quietly. "I cannot help you there."

"No," Ereinion sighed. "I did not really expect that you could." He sighed again, tightening his arms around Elrond's waist. "Hold me."

Elrond drew him close, settling himself between Ereinion's thighs and wrapping his arms around his lover. He pressed a gentle kiss to Ereinion's mouth and then rested his head against his lover's shoulder. And for a long time it was quiet.

Finally Ereinion gave Elrond a gentle squeeze and then released him completely.
"I surrender," he said with an audible groan. "I am going to sleep just sitting here; I need to rest. Again."

Elrond rose, stepping back to allow Ereinion space to get to his feet.
"Shall I ask a maid to remake the bed?"

Gil-galad shook his head, walking back into the bedroom and beginning to redress himself.
"No. I think I shall take a walk first and," he glanced at Elrond as he added softly, "if you do not mind, I would like to be alone."

Elrond met his gaze warily, thinking of Cirdan's words about Celairos, and almost instantly a flash of anger crossed Ereinion's face.

"For the sake of the Valar, Elrond, what do you think I am going to do?" he asked impatiently. "Try to drown myself again? I have no desire to return to Mandos' Halls and if you have not worked that out by now you should have done!"

Elrond frowned at him, a little annoyed by the sharpness in Ereinion's tone and more so because he was irritated with himself for thinking it possible. Yet the memory of last night's half crazed flight to the ocean was lingering contradiction to Ereinion's claim. Elrond touched his brow lightly; the skin was unblemished but still aching from the blow Ereinion had struck him. Ereinion was calmer now and a repeat of the event seemed unlikely, but Elrond was reluctant to make another poor judgement concerning the one he loved so dearly.

"I did not think that," he objected, not quite truthfully. "I am merely concerned that you do not have the strength to be alone at the moment."

Ereinion held his gaze steadily for a moment. "Then I shall not go far."

* * * *

The words proved a lie, however, though Ereinion had not intended to be untruthful when he left the chamber. Yet his steps carried him ever further from the House of Valinor, meandering through the woods and onwards far from the sea. He tired quickly, each step seeming to require all the strength he had, all the concentration he could muster. But he would not stop. Grief had drained him and yet with stubborn resolve he continued on. If he stopped he knew his thoughts would overtake him and to dwell upon the events of the previous night was more than he could bear. Ever onward he walked.

He fell to his knees at last, the number of leagues he had travelled from the Welcome House uncountable. His mind swirled with the mists of lapsing consciousness and finally Ereinion admitted defeat. He braced his hands against the cool earth, his head hanging and his breath coming in heaving pants. He kept his eyes closed until the world steadied around him and he was certain he would not lose consciousness. Drawing his legs underneath him, Ereinion shifted to sit upon the edge of the riverbank. He gazed blankly at the river shining brightly in the midday sun, as it wound its way back along the route he had taken until it became an estuary flowing into the sea, about half a league from the Welcome House.

So I died. To state the fact so coldly even in his thoughts, after the events of the previous night, sent a wave of anguish through him. Fear, horror that he could not contain rose like the great waves of Osse and for a moment the world around him blurred as dizziness overcame him in a roaring swirl of nausea. Shivering, spots dancing in his vision, he clenched his fists tightly and shut his eyes. His breath shuddered in his chest and he gasped for the air that momentarily seemed absent from the entire world. The ground pitched beneath him, the scenery spinning in a sickening blur of colour. He slammed his fists against the ground, striking the cool earth again and again as though to ground himself in reality. Stones scraped at his knuckles, damp earth pushing up between his fingers and gradually his terror receded.

"Fine," he said, aloud this time. "I died. I know how. I know why. And I am here now."

He sat up slowly, brushing the ruptured earth back into place with his fingertips. It could have happened half a hundred times before, he realised, memories of the battles he had fought over the years passing through his mind. It could have happened again last night. He suppressed a shudder at the thought, cursing his own idiocy in the light of the day. But the siren soft call of the Valar's music had sounded so clearly then, singing the path to the Halls. Had they called him again? Or had that just been a memory? He did not know. If the song had come again, then it could only have been a test to his strength. Nienna asking if he had made the right choice, if he was certain that he had been right to leave the Halls when the choice was offered. If it was a memory, then… Then he had been asking himself that same question. For the first time since he had woken from his nightmare that became reality, Ereinion smiled. Either way, he knew the answer now.

The soft sounds of the water rippling and bubbling over the stones of the riverbed were musical to his ears. Ulmo's liquid song lilted from the tributary and soothed away the ravages in Ereinion's fire-tortured mind. He watched the water, with its strange insubstantial form that could be contained, but never held. He cupped a hand and scooped up a palm-full of water, feeling the cool touch of the liquid as it poured between his fingers. Crystal clear it showed all the pebbles beneath its surface, gleaming like natural jewels, valueless, unlike the great gemstones of the Noldor, and yet somehow all the more beautiful for it.

Ereinion touched his damp fingers to his forehead and cheeks, enjoying the cooling droplets that lingered on his sweat-damped skin. He dipped his hand into the water again and this time quickly drank the water he had captured, before it could slide away. His thirst quenched, but his strength depleted beyond swift recovery, he lay back. The gentle brush of the grass tickled his wrists where the sleeves of his robes had ridden up. The earth was cool beneath him and he gently curled his fingers into the soil, letting his gaze drift to the clouds above. The sky was almost too bright to look at, yet there he lay until the shadows fell over the water and the day turned to night, pricking the sky with stars.

* * * *

Elrond had spent the day in the healing wing. When he retreated there he had fully intended to occupy himself with some work, but Aranel had had other ideas. The younger healer took a single look at him, crossed to the cabinet and poured out a double measure of miruvor. From the bookcase he extracted a volume listing the properties of the various herbs that grew in Aman, and a sheet of paper in Elrond's own writing listing a variety of new herbs that had been discovered, and their properties.

"There is a single bed in a small chamber through that door," Aranel said firmly. "If you have come here to work then it would help me if you can scribe these into this book." Smiling at Elrond's frown, he added severely, "but I suggest that you get some rest."

Elrond closed his mouth on a protest and surrendered. The menial task would not usually have been allocated to him, nor usually would Aranel have quite so firmly dictated his occupation and Elrond realised that he could not look in any better condition than Ereinion. With a nod of concession to his fellow healer, Elrond retreated to the privacy of Aranel's chamber and settled himself onto the bed.

* * * *

He woke again some hours after sunset, pleased that he had succeeded in transcribing the notes before his exhaustion claimed him and feeling rejuvenated from his rest. He rose, stifling a yawn and placed the book upon a table for Elenwe or Brethilas to crosscheck, left the healing wing and retreated to his own rooms. They were empty. Fear shot like a bolt through his previous relaxation. Ereinion. The thought struck him like a physical blow, Ereinion's last words echoing in his ears. I shall not go far. Elrond closed his eyes, inhaling slowly to maintain his composure. But his heart was slamming against his chest.

The door opened behind him and he wheeled sharply around. Ereinion. Elrond released his pent-up breath and ran his eye over the younger elf. Ereinion still looked tired, his steps slow, but his torment in his eyes, which had lingered despite the calmness of his outward show that morning, had quieted. There was mud upon his breeches and streaked across one cheek, yet his skin was suffused with the soft light of radiance only health can produce.

"'I will not go far,'" Elrond quoted lightly, feeling a smile cross his face as the worry-induced tension ebbed from him at the sight of his lover. "Where was this 'not far'? Beloved, you have been hours."

Ereinion smiled sheepishly. "It seemed further on the way back," he admitted, and slid his outer robe from his shoulders, dropping it in a silken puddle upon the chair.

"Sloven," Elrond chided. He took off his own robe and folded it across the back of the chair, intending to change his garments before the evening meal. But as he glanced up he could not contain a start of surprise. "Ereinion...?"

The younger elf looked up, his eyes widening at the startled expression Elrond wore, and the peredhel quickly closed his mouth. He took a tentative step toward his lover, reaching out to run his fingers cautiously across the Ereinion's skin, illuminated by the soft rays of the yellow moon that streamed like palest gold through the windows. Upon the once-flawless, youthful flesh ran a series of faint, silvery lines. Across his torso a mithril-hued slash line ran from above his right hip to midway between the planes of his chest. His right forearm bore a thicker silver-dark cut mark as though a wrist sheath had been spliced open. Elrond traced the lines with his fingertips, slowly circling Ereinion to note the tapering line of a scar down his back, where damaged armour had cut in when thrown from a dying horse. A dozen less serious injuries were written in faint lines upon his skin and, when Ereinion sat upon the bed and Elrond unlaced the younger elf's breeches, the mark of an arrow's entry upon his thigh was visible too.

Ereinion examined the appearance of the scars with apparent interest.
"Ereigon," he murmured thoughtfully, tracing the mark on his forearm.

"You created these?" Kneeling before him, his fingers running over the ancient mark that marred Ereinion's thigh, Elrond stared at him.

Ereinion shrugged. "Not consciously, but I...I remember these times now, much more clearly."

Elrond lifted a hand to gently touch Ereinion's shoulder, his fingers sliding over the unmarked skin of his lover's upper arm. Here, during the Last Alliance, Ereinion had taken an arrow in deep, fighting on for nearly a day, snapping off the shaft but not removing the head. Elrond suppressed a grimace to recall the impromptu field surgery the injury had dictated. The wound had scarred deeply, at the time. Now the skin was unblemished.

Ereinion glanced at him, puzzled.
"What is it?"

Elrond shook his head.
"Nothing."

There was nothing, he realised, running a careful eye across his lover, not a single mark to tell of the days of the Last Alliance. It was as though it had never been, to view Ereinion's physical form. And, when Elrond met the curious cobalt gaze, he realised that the haunted expression was diminishing. No potion was necessary, he realised with carefully contained surprise, to banish memories more hideous than one was willing to recall. Ereinion had simply shut them away. The knowledge remained, but as cold distant fact that he did not care to explore further. He traced his fingers over the flawless skin once again, and then gently kissed Ereinion's shoulder.

Ereinion settled his arms around Elrond's waist, watching him with a curious expression, and then gave his head a dismissive shake. Elrond leaned his head against Ereinion's shoulder, letting his fingers lightly smooth over his lover's chest, the shiny lines of scars sometimes softer, sometimes rougher depending on the seriousness of the original injury. He let his hand fall to rest on Ereinion's thigh, looping the other comfortably around his lover's back.

"I am going to accept the leadership of the Lower Council," Ereinion said at length.

Elrond blinked, opening his eyes dazedly.
"Sorry, what?"

"Oh, were you asleep?" Ereinion grimaced guiltily. "It does not matter, sleep, I can tell you later."

Elrond shifted, straightening legs only slightly cramped, and moved to sit upon the bed.
"Now you have woken me, you had better tell me," he threatened.

Curiosity narrowed Ereinion's eyes and he leaned closer to whisper in Elrond's ear, "Or else what?"

Elrond gripped a handful of Ereinion's hair and yanked the teasing lips against his in a rough kiss.
"I shall think of something."

Ereinion snorted. "You are not a vengeful creature," he murmured, pressing softer kisses against his lover's mouth. "I believe I am safe enough."

"Consider yourself fortunate that it is so," Elrond grumbled, resting his cheek on Ereinion's shoulder again. "Now, what were you saying?"

"Oh nothing important; I just said that I am going to take the leadership of the Lower Council."

"You are?" Elrond sat up, pushing back his hair with interest. "Good..." He broke off, frowning suddenly. "Ereinion, when did you decide this?"

The younger elf smiled tolerantly. "Not just this instant. I have been thinking seriously about it since it was first suggested. I will not stay here much beyond my majority, there is precious little for me to do and to be honest I find it constricting. I want to set up a realm again, start over properly. Do not worry, Elrond. This is not just my way finding a distraction from everything that has happened. I certainly do not want to do this until I am actually of age, and preferably not until I have built my own realm. I would appreciate it if you will stand in for me. I know Cirdan does not want to continue his position any longer than he absolutely has to."

"I will do so," Elrond agreed. "Tell me, have you had any thoughts about this realm of yours and where it would be?"

Ereinion shrugged one shoulder. "Perhaps toward Tuna and the realms of the Noldor. By blood right I can claim a lordship in that area, though I am not exactly ecstatic about that possibility."

"So far..." Elrond faltered, frowning.

Ereinion touched his face, gently trailing his fingers over his lover's unconsciously pouted lips. "It would be no greater a distance from here than used to exist between Lindon and Imladris."

"That was too far," Elrond said quietly. Then he shook his head, catching Ereinion's hand in both of his, and looked away. "Forgive me, I did not mean to sound like a petulant child."

Ereinion's fingers tilted Elrond's chin upwards until the peredhel could not avoid his gaze. "Trust me when I say I would not wish to be far from you," he said firmly. "There has been far too much time between us already, beloved. I would have you come with me, if you will."

Elrond leaned back against the bedpost, considering.
"And do what? Stand as seneschal?"

"If you wish to, but I can understand that a subservient position would not necessarily appeal to you now. It would not be a ridiculous notion to construct proper healing collegiums. The Noldor are not exactly famed for their healing abilities and Tirion has had to send out for healers in the past, often to this house for so many are concentrated here."

"That is true," Elrond admitted.

Aranel, Elenwe and Brethilas were the central core of the Welcome House's healing collegiums, but there were at least eleven others, of varying ability, that Elrond knew should have been available, and yet were distributed in the other cities, or seeking those with sufficient talent to train to the higher standards.

"Think on it, if you will," Ereinion said, his tone turning lazy, and he lay back upon the matress. "We have another five or so years before I am even of majority, and probably half a century beyond that before I get tired enough of this place to want to move on. I shall have to speak to Finarfin no doubt, and Cirdan. We have time."

Elrond nodded. "I think I can make a decision within the turn of fifty-five summers."

Ereinion chuckled. "Good. And if not then we shall have to breed some horses fleet enough of foot to carry us across a distance that will otherwise be far too great!"

Elrond laughed, rolling over to enfold Ereinion in his arms once more.
"Promise me?"

"Hand on heart," Ereinion agreed, drawing Elrond into a lingering kiss and for a time speech was surrendered to the unity of lips and the comfort of embrace.

Hush

The subsequent days were quiet: dawning fair and gentle. Osse's waves lapped idly at the beach, the music of the water an ever-present whisper from the sea. The gulls wheeled and curled amidst the high mists that shielded Valinor from the outer world, their sharp cries staccato and startling in the tranquil air. Inside the house too it was quiet, so quiet that it seemed possible to hear the sunbeams falling upon the flagstones. Elrond was grateful for the peace. If he was still tired, Ereinion was exhausted. Yet within the younger elf's eyes there was a light that had not long lingered there before. It was that which Elrond had come to term the "phoenix" light: a certain calm centre to the cobalt gaze that glowed like a strong fire within, a manifestation visible to elven eyes that told of a lifetime past and a lifetime present, and the strength of the soul that bore them.

But while the days were quiet, the nights were far from being so. Each attempt to sleep brought only broken rest, for Ereinion frequently woke himself to toss, turn and rise instead, shying from the dream worlds like a horse baulks at water. Elrond stayed with him. He was not a mind-healer and his limitations he nightly felt as Ereinion started awake again and again. He denied that nightmares disturbed him and indeed it seemed unlikely. He woke himself instead; the potential for revelations brought by the unconscious mind disturbing in itself. Once, and only once, Elrond had suggested that Ereinion visit Aranel, who could heal minds. The single "no" had dropped like a portcullis into the resounding silence.

To Cirdan, however, both were eternally grateful. After irritating Ereinion several times with enquiries after his well being, the shipwright appeared with a mass of paperwork and told Ereinion that if he was going to become involved officially with the Lower Council, then he would *become* officially involved. There was certainly a great deal to attend to. Cirdan deposited the paperwork on the desk, with a benign smile at Ereinion's startled expression, and took a seat. He handed an almost illegible script to Elrond and Ereinion leaned over his shoulder to read it. Elrond absently covered the hand Ereinion placed on his shoulder with his own, and read the script aloud. It was, when Elrond managed to decipher the handwriting, a letter to Ingwe that detailed Cirdan's abdication of his position as head of the Upper Council and the proposal for Ereinion's assuming it, with Elrond standing in until Ereinion's coming of age.

Ereinion settled back into his own seat when Elrond had finished.
"Ever thought of employing a scribe, Cirdan?" he asked, regarding his foster father from beneath arched eyebrows as he took the script from Elrond, turning it this way and that in an attempt to read the writing.

Cirdan sighed. "I think I shall have to beg Celebrian to do me that honour," he confessed and moved to the door to send a maid to summon her.

Celebrian came after a short delay, glanced at the letter briefly and picked up a quill, taking a seat beside the desk. "Is it not fortunate, Elrond, that you came to the house where Ereinion was being raised? I think you would not have believed your eyes had you received a letter from Cirdan detailing his return."

Elrond chuckled. "Though as I recall you were both rather reluctant to tell me."

Ereinion glanced at him. "Is that so? Well, it is comforting to know that I am not the only one from whom information is concealed."

There was a slight pause as each elf looked at the others, secrets falling unspoken into the silence. Elrond broke the pause swiftly, looking back at his lover.
"Are you ever going to forgive me for that?"

Ereinion smiled and laid a hand briefly on Elrond's knee. Elrond, recognising the evasion, tried not to allow the twinge of sadness he felt show in his eyes. Give him time, he reminded himself. He has had a great deal to adjust to.

Celebrian was watching them sympathetically and, after a moment, lightly cleared her throat. Elrond glanced at her, smiled faintly, and handed the letter back to its writer with his thumb marking a passage.

"I think perhaps you might wish to rephrase this - it is not quite formal enough, I think."

Cirdan ran his eye over the sentence and frowned.
"I think I am unfit...oh, yes, I see what you mean." He scratched his beard thoughtfully. "I have come to the conclusion that I am unfit…"

Celebrian's quill started up, in brisk copperplate script, beginning to note down the alteration. But Cirdan had fallen silent again. Celebrian drew a line through her note and waited. "I am not suited..." Again the quill moved. And stopped. "That i am... that I... oh." Cirdan pushed himself away from the desk edge and read over his words again, sighing. Celebrian put her chin in her hand and watched her partner with evident amusement as Cirdan muttered to himself. "That I am unfit to..."

"Write this letter?" Ereinion teased, earning himself a glower from the shipwright.

"Perhaps you should conclude that there are personal reasons for relinquishing the title and that you feel another would be better suited to the position," Elrond suggested.

Celebrian flashed him a grateful smile and quickly scribbled down the alternative phrasing.

"Thank you, Elrond," Cirdan said with obvious relief. "I fear I lack your eloquent tongue."

Elrond smiled. "Perhaps. But I know that despite my father's sea-faring ways I could not navigate a ship across an ocean with no landmarks, nor would I know what to do if the ship stood still in windless waters – there is a technical term for that, is there not?" he added with a wry grimace.

"Locked in irons," Cirdan supplied with a chuckle. "And your diplomacy does you credit."

"Who better than a loremaster to word political negotiations?" Ereinion asked fondly. "Why else do you imagine I chose Elrond as my herald – and scribe upon occasions?"

"I am certain a great many of Elrond's talents were the cause for that decision," Cirdan replied, arching a silvery eyebrow at his foster-son.

Ereinion chuckled sheepishly. Then he paused, "Do you mean to say that you are insulting my ability to make professional judgements and that you are only free to say it now, because I am no longer the high king?" he demanded, feigning offence.

Cirdan laughed. "My dear Ereinion, king you were to me, but son also. If I had believed that I would surely have said it. I trust you would have not had me executed for treason, as I trust that there was an *element* of professionalism in the decision to name Elrond herald and vice-regent."

Listening to them banter, Elrond shifted to Celebrian's side to complete the construction of the letter, sharing an amused glance with her. She reluctantly interrupted Cirdan for his signature, and then stamped the letter with the official seal of their house. As she handed the letter to Cirdan, she noted with a puzzled shake of her head that in matters such as this, though Olwe was head of the Upper Council, the message had to pass first through the hands of the high king of Valinor. Ereinion grinned.

"Politics," he said, rolling his eyes. "Did you honestly expect logic in the matter?"

Cirdan smiled and agreed. "The council is a new system and echoes the Valar's own circle for decision making, but the systems that have long been established still hold sway."

Celebrian just shook her head again, evidently unimpressed.
"Does that not undermine the new system?"

Ereinion nodded. "Completely. But it is also a safeguard against failure."

"Or a cause," Elrond remarked with smiling cynicism.

Celebrian rose to leave, spreading her hands in a gesture of despair.
"I recall now why I will have no part in it," she said. "Men have no logic and merely are merely concerned with power. If rings had been given to the nine queens of men I think we would never have had the nazgul."

A roar of astonished laughter greeted her remark.

"Well!" Ereinion exclaimed. "You have well and truly put us in our places, Celebrian!"

"Dare I remind you that you speak to three who were once ring bearers?" Elrond queried, arching an eyebrow.

"I have forgotten it not," she smiled. "Were there a wraith among you I should not wish to be in your society."

With that smiling return she mimed a curtsey and exited. She did, however, leave Elrond her lute and for the remainder of that day he forgot the dubious intrigues of political negotiations. Instead he found himself coaxing half-forgotten ballads from the sweet instrument, while Ereinion listened, adopting a far quieter air than he usually exhibited.

* * * *

Yet the lightness of the morning was quite lost by the time evening crept in and the shadows of gloaming dusk seemed to be echoed inside the candlelit chamber when Elrond retired to bed. He had spent a few hours of the afternoon in the healing collegiums. He had not lingered there; Aranel had understood his wish to remain observant of Ereinion, but he had returned with several scrolls of research that had been done on a new herb discovered growing on the cliff faces in Valinor. It was information he would have been greatly intrigued by, was it not for the fact that he was actually using the papers to conceal his prolonged scrutiny of Ereinion. The younger - if he could truly be called that now - elf was standing at the window, his gaze fixed upon the distant horizons. He had not spoken a word for the remainder of the day. He stood erect and tall, his long hair a dark veil to his features, shadowing his eyes. He seemed like a statue, an inanimate replication of himself that had all semblance of life, yet possessed none. Faced with the chilling mirror of Celebrian's attitude following her brush with death, Elrond watched, and worried. A stranger seemed to see through Ereinion's expressive eyes, staring into the middle-distance as if seeking somewhere beyond the world to which he could escape. Elrond laid aside the quill he had been absently fingering, and set his papers upon the desk.

"Ereinion."

Gil-galad turned, a brief sketch of animation passing across his features: the barest flicker of his eyebrows.
"Yes?"

Elrond pushed aside his chair and rose, moving to the window. For a moment he did not speak, just gathered Ereinion close and rested his cheek against the soft dark hair. The still form barely yielded, though Gil-galad's hands slid to cover Elrond's where they were looped about his waist.

"You are so quiet, beloved," Elrond murmured. "Talk to me."

Gil-galad sighed, pulling away. "What do you wish me to speak of?"

"Come," Elrond said, hearing falsity in the lightness of his tone. "Surely you cannot be short of topics - you have scarce said two words since the morn."

Gil-galad moved away, leaning against the wall as though to prevent further contact.
"I have not said anything because I have not seen anyone. Mercifully."

"Did you not leave the room when I went to the healing collegiums?"

"No." Gil-galad managed a slightly twisted smile. "Every time I leave I spend the time insisting to various people that I am fine. I am tired of the scepticism."

"Perhaps you should stitch it onto the front of your tunic," Elrond suggested, smiling.

Gil-galad chuckled. "It is becoming a serious consideration."
He reached out and touched Elrond's cheek lightly. "Thank you."

Elrond lifted his hand to cover Ereinion's.
"For what?"

"For not asking me that every single morning."

Elrond's features twisted into a guilty smile. "I have wanted to."

"I know." Ereinion smiled again. "But you have not asked, nor have you treated me as though I am sick, or unstable, or simply on the brink of losing my sanity."

"I have faith that you are none of those things - but if you wish to correct me...?" Elrond said lightly.

"No, I am..." Ereinion groaned. "Fine."

Elrond smiled, leaning back against the wall. He dropped his gaze to his fingers, twisting Vilya as had become a habit in recent years. He tried not to sigh, but the prolonged silences that blanketed the days in an impenetrable layer were heavy on his mind.

Gil-galad's sigh made him lift his head.
"You do not believe me."

Elrond slipped Vilya back onto his finger.
"Do you believe yourself?" he asked gently.

Ereinion was silent again and, when Elrond lifted his head, he was staring once more into the middle distance.

Let Me Forget

Morning came and Elrond knew no more of Ereinion's concerns than he had the night before. He opened his eyes some hours before dawn to find Ereinion awake and watching him. Ereinion's fingers were gently moving through Elrond's hair, the deep sapphire eyes, dark in the greyish half-light that filled the chamber, were trained on Elrond's features, their expression curious and peaceful. Gil-galad smiled as Elrond blinked, and pulled him closer so that Elrond's head fell comfortably against his lover's shoulder. Falling once more into sleep, Elrond was startled to awaken with the dawn light - alone. Elrond was half-upright before the cobwebs of sleep had cleared from his mind, the familiar hated sensation of awakening alone spiralling through him.

"Elrond? What's the matter?" Ereinion's startled voice swung his scanning gaze to the window, where Ereinion, his face and hair wet from the washbasin, was pulling on his clothes and looking out over the shores.

Shaking his head, Elrond slid his legs out of the tangled sheets and got up properly, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. As used as he was to sometimes waking in an empty bed, the years after Gil-galad's death and then those after Celebrian's departure had turned the experience into a perpetually unpleasant one. Ereinion's hands caught his shoulders and Elrond turned to face him. The sapphire eyes flickered briefly with guilt, realising what Elrond was thinking, but a smile was tweaking at the corners of his lips. Elrond tried to glare and found himself laughing instead; the foolishness of his alarm warmed his cheeks and he banged his forehead against Ereinion's shoulder, simultaneously embarrassed and amused. Strong hands tugged fondly at his hair, directed Elrond's head up so that Ereinion's lips met his in a kiss.

"Folly, Peredhel," Gil-galad chuckled affectionately, kissing Elrond's forehead. "I am not going anywhere."

"You are in a better humour this morning," Elrond remarked.

"I am, am I not?" Ereinion admitted cheerfully, sitting on the edge of the bed and, through force of very old habit, Elrond knelt to lace his boots for him.

Elrond was accustomed to the other elf's erratic mood swings; Ereinion's emotional storm clouds usually cleared as quickly as they came. It was the interspersed periods of reserved silence Elrond could not recall experiencing with him before. Remembering Celebrian's stubborn silence after her torture and the dividedness of her personality that had resulted, splitting her into the she-who-must-not-be-spoken-of woman of the past and the changed woman who lived now, Elrond was uneasily aware that Ereinion had not spoken a word of his experiences since the eve of his nightmare. Elrond wanted to speak of it. The original event had changed the course of their lives, suddenly, unexpectedly, leaving him alone at the peak of his years. The recovery from that and its recollection had driven them forcefully together again. It was not something Elrond felt able to walk away from, to act as though nothing had changed and they could simply pick up where they had left off all those centuries ago. But he knew not how to raise the topic. Donning his own robes and idly watching Ereinion knot braids into his hair, Elrond was well aware that in his current good humour, Ereinion would brush the issue aside. Yet last night he had been unreachable. But, Elrond reluctantly reasoned, a single conversation in a single night would not put to rights all that had changed, or all that had not.

The morning heralded more than that realisation, however, for Glorfindel and Ecthelion were due to return to their kingdom and there was an internal dispute to be dealt with within the house. Cirdan had summoned Ereinion early that morning, for two fishing boats had collided and sunk some short distance offshore. Their respective captains were each demanding that the other be sent to Osse's watery keep in compensation and Cirdan had decided that Ereinion should dictate the solution to the situation. Amused at being taught his duties over again, Ereinion had been strangely amenable to the arrangement, and was now cloistered in the counsel chambers with two irate and still dripping Teleri.

Elrond went with Celebrian to bid farewell to Glorfindel and Ecthelion, whose departure was interrupted by the unexpected return of Oropher. The young Sinda had travelled to Tol Eressea, where his parents resided. His mother and father from his first lifetime had born him into his second existence, Celebrian revealed, and Oropher had been sent to Cirdan to allow him a chance to mature before his memories began. His parents had summoned him back only a few short months ago to begin the restoration of his memory. The young Sinda wore a strained expression and snapped perpetually at his attendants as they began to unload his travelling equipment.

"To tell you the truth, I did not know if he would be coming back," Celebrian murmured to Elrond as they watched passively. "But his parents sent us a letter a few weeks ago to say that, if we were agreeable, Oropher would split his time between their home and ours to give him time to adjust to his discoveries."

"What are his parents like?" Elrond asked thoughtfully.

Celebrian frowned. "His father is a demanding man, but rather lax in routines and organisation. He tends to expect things to be done when he wants them done, without informing anyone of when that is. He cares dearly for his family, however; I cannot fault him in his concern for them. Impatient as he is, he is open to reason in retrospect. As for his mother, she is an intensely proud woman. Oropher inherited characteristics of each, of course, which seem to be strengthened by being reborn through the same parents. He is very similar to his original self, so I am told, because of this."

Elrond nodded, uncertain as to whether he considered that a good thing or if he would have preferred an alternative Oropher. Reluctantly concluding that others would have objected to this, he turned to Celebrian thoughtfully.

"You speak of Oropher's parents and I assume that Ardis has some also, but what of Ereinion's? He told me he does not recall them at all; he still speaks of Fingon as his father."

Celebrian nodded. "That is as it should be," she said quietly. "The rebirth process is complex. A child is reborn because a new house is required for the spirit; however, the same form is taken and recreated from the child's memories. Some may be returned to life as an adult. I know not why this may be, unless it be because they have returned for an immediate purpose."

Elrond was startled. "I knew not that they could be restored as an adult."

"It is unusual," Celebrian admitted. " I confess I know not of any who have had that happen to them – save, of course, the legendary Beren, who was mortal and lived only to die again."

"Anyway, a child may be restored to its former parents, for several reasons: if their parents have prevailed, obviously; if they died young; or if their parents have been asked by Elbereth to bear the child again when the time comes for their reincarnation. This cannot always occur; I hear it is unusual in fact. Many children are reborn to different parents, even into different kin. They retain their heritage of their former parents and also carry the new one."

"How does that process work?" Elrond asked, taking a seat on a nearby bench. "A new fea is created from the spirits and essence of their parents, though it takes on its own individuality immediately. Would not a spirit born of different parents become quite unlike itself?"

Celebrian shook her head pensively. "No. The spirit is returning, not being created; all that is rebuilt is the body, and that from memory too. For this reason reborn spirits are not sent to parents who have no children, for the child would be alien to them and not of their making. The bearers of these children are approached by Elbereth and asked to carry the child to give it life once more; they are always mothers and fathers already, with their children raised and grown."

"Then who were Ereinion's parents?" Elrond asked curiously.

"Finarfin and Earwen," Celebrian said quietly. "Elrond, you must never tell him. Finarfin was clear upon that. He accepted the responsibility because he felt he owed it to Fingolfin. If you recall the tale of the kinslayings both Finarfin and Fingolfin followed Feanor in his campaign to protect their people from his recklessness. I hear that Finarfin carries great guilt for not trying to convince Fingolfin to return when Feanor deserted him. It is said, as I am sure you know, that Ereinion is much like his grandsire, and that is well known here; but Finarfin loathes Fingon's very memory, and Ereinion was *his* son. He consented to be part in his recreation, partly because of Fingolfin and partly, I think, through Ingwe's inference. I know not the reasoning for the high king's intercession, yet he has had a hand in all the re-parenting affairs. I can only think that it is because his insight into the mind of Manwe is greater than any other among us. I can only suspect that it was of some import that Ereinion return into the Noldor race and as close to his former kin as possible.

"Earwen's reasoning was quite different. I believe she wanted to bridge the divides between the kindreds and repair what she can of the past. She is of Teleri blood and her acceptance of Fingon's son is very important in bridging the age-old divides. It has caused much tension with Olwe, of course, given Fingon's part in the destruction of his people. This all has contributed to why they sent him to Cirdan and I to be raised and we promised that Ereinion would never know the truth. Please, Elrond, if he sees Fingon as his father still, let it be so."

"He knew Fingon as his father, but I think the person he truly sees in that role is Cirdan," Elrond replied slowly. "Fingon used to be an icon of the fight for freedom in Middle-earth, of dedication to a cause, however ill. Ereinion's view of him now is far less favourable, but in neither lifetime has Fingon been a father to him. Very well, Celebrian, I shall keep the promise laid upon you, unless Ereinion asks me to break it. I suspect he will not, but if he does I shall tell him and the reason for silence."

Celebrian shook her head, but sighed.
"If you must," she grudgingly agreed.

"I will not lie to him, Celebrian. No relationship can work on the basis of deception." Elrond grimaced slightly. "Both you and I know that."

"You did not lie to me, Elrond, when I married you, except by omission," Celebrian said quietly. "I knew you had loved and lost another, though that it was the high king slightly shocked me, despite the rumours of the court. Still, I was under no illusions that you could love me as you had him. And I do not lie to Cirdan, but I do not always tell him the whole truth."

"I will lie by omission," Elrond said, "But to lie completely, I will not. It serves no purpose and it is a false, cowardly way to live."

Celebrian nodded her agreement and rose to meet Oropher, who had finally turned from his attendants to greet her with a slightly stiff embrace.

* * * *

The strange humour Ereinion was in when Elrond located him served to put any guilt at the concealment from his mind directly. They dined late that evening with Celebrian, Cirdan and Oropher. The latter was unusually subdued and sat stiffly, never glancing at Ereinion, who for his part, made no attempt to converse. He laughingly discussed the settling of the dispute between the two Teleri sailors with Celebrian. But when a simple invitation to sail with Cirdan that evening was put forward, Ereinion declined and fell quite suddenly silent. He swallowed the last of his wine in a single motion and exited the table the very instant politeness permitted. Exchanging a puzzled glance with the shipwright, Elrond stayed to finish his own drink more slowly as the maids cleared the plates, hoping Ereinion would walk himself out of his mood, and then set out in search of his lover.

The stables, library, and secret cliff ledge yielded no fruit and it was in the boathouse that Elrond eventually located him. Ereinion was sat upon the edge of the mooring area, his boat drawn up out of the water, methodically breaking it apart and setting the wood aside for other's to reuse. Elrond knew that his lover must have registered his presence, for he stood for some time in the doorway, his body casting a long shadow where it blocked the moon. Yet Ereinion did not look up, and Elrond left him to his task. The gesture reminded him rather sadly of his own twins, whose childhood had been lost in a single fell swoop as they gave away their keepsake wooden swords and headless arrows to the children of Imladris shortly after the orc attack had claimed their mother. It was as though the event had destroyed their childhood and all memories of it were banished with the innocence that they could not reclaim. Ereinion's distrust of the sea had heightened dramatically since the night of his death recollection. That he needed to bid farewell to the days of his second youth came as no surprise and Elrond was glad he had decided to hold his tongue over the parentage revelations of the morning.

It was late when Ereinion finally returned and his expression was one of mixed regret and half-quenched anger. The presence of emotion upon his face, instead of the alarmingly blank stare he occasionally adopted, relieved the knot of disquiet that had formed in Elrond's gut as he awaited the other elf's return. He was quiet as Ereinion entered, paced around for a few moments, kissed Elrond briefly on the lips, and then settled himself before a stack of papers. Elrond glanced out at the night and mentally winced at the continued lack of sleep he was achieving.

"Are you not coming to bed? There are but three hours until dawn. You must be in need of rest."

Ereinion put down his pen, swivelling around in his chair and Elrond spared a moment to wonder how it was that he could look both young and old in the same heartbeat.

Ereinion shrugged. "No, I am well enough. But do not let me stop you; I will lie with you if you need my company."

"Always, beloved," Elrond said gently. Struck by a thought, he added, "But why will you not sleep: do you fear to dream?"

"No." Ereinion's tone grew suddenly wary.

Elrond sighed, wishing that Ereinion's acceptance of his life would stretch to his death as well.
"I can see why you would, beloved. I know I used to. But I think that we are both free of such dark dreams as came a few nights past."

"I do not want to talk about it." Ereinion turned back to his papers.

Elrond set aside his own quill and papers. "Maybe you need to, Ereinion..."

"Damn it, Elrond! I said no!" Ereinion slammed a hand down onto the table, scattering pens and papers across the flagstones.

Elrond tried not to jump, his startled eyes following the pens as they rolled across the floor. He looked up at Ereinion severely. "Do not start this again. When you refused to speak of what was going to happen to you and the memories of your death that you were going to encounter it nearly proved your undoing. I will not allow that to happen again."

Ereinion fixed cold eyes on Elrond's. "I refused?" he snapped. "I damn well did not! It was you who was closed-mouthed about the whole affair. Well, now I know why. I would not have wanted to speak of it either. And I do not want to speak of it now. I know what happened to me. I have remembered. And now I wish to forget again."

"And do you think you can just forget it?" Elrond said quietly.

Ereinion walked to the bed and sat beside his lover, shrugging his shoulders.
"Elrond, I remember almost nothing of the Last Alliance. I can vaguely recall the preparations for the war, and certain glimpses of the mountain - Oropher's last charge comes to mind, and Ardís' death. Beyond that I could not tell you what happened there. And I do not want to. I do not remember Anarion's death and by Elbereth I am glad I did not have to see Elendil's." His features crossed briefly with sadness at the memory of his trusted friend. He sighed and looked back at Elrond. "I know what happened during those years of siege because I can read of them in the history books, but even that does not bring it to recall. Frankly I want it to stay that way."

Elrond considered him carefully. He shook his head slightly, realising what Ereinion was saying. He did not even remember the night of his dream clearly. Whether it was that he did not want to, or he could not cope with the recollection, Elrond was not certain. But of one thing he was convinced: this door was closed and locked. Ereinion's silence would not willingly break, and perhaps it should not. The mind found ways to accommodate that which was too traumatic to bear recall. Celebrian's separated personality was testament to that. Elrond himself had found often that in his own dreams of the Last Alliance he had always awoken before the fatal strikes of Sauron, though his conscious mind had often filled in the details he shied from in dream. But he had never been able to rest, seeking the reasons why Ereinion had been lost to him, why he had lived on. Now, here in Valinor, he finally knew: the work he had done over the years in rebuilding the battered elven havens, bridging the divides between elves and men and facing the shadow a second time. Ereinion had never been so concerned with the why but always with how. His question had been answered in the nightmare. To him the issue seemed completed, finished. Perhaps that was for the best.

Ereinion shifted slightly then, and one hand moved to cup Elrond's jaw. The elder elf let himself be drawn from his thoughts and into a kiss without resistance. Ereinion's hands on his shoulders guided him gently back to recline upon the pillows and strong arms enfolded him. He wound Ereinion into his own embrace and let love distract him away down the paths of sensation, far from thought or concern.

Kill or Cure

The proposal for Ereinion's leadership of the Lower Council was put to the Upper Council at the next congregation of the elven government. The meeting was held in the city of Tirion nearly a month later. Ingwe's response to the letter had been swift and immediate, instantly contacting Olwe and summoning a council. Elrond was privately furious that they had to make the long and arduous ride to Tirion. Yet of those beyond the borders of the Welcome House none, save Ecthelion and Glorfindel, knew of Ereinion's condition. To reveal it was not likely to inspire faith from the Upper Council. Yet the ride very nearly drained Ereinion of the strength he had recovered since his ordeal. In the manner of the true king he had once been, he bore the long hours of the seemingly endless banquet with stoicism. He held his head high and with apparently infinite attention followed the convoluted discussions of days long past. Rarely did his memory falter and, a subtle eye upon him, Elrond could see in him the high king he had known and loved for centuries presiding over the child he had come once more to love.

Elrond found himself able to relax properly and fell into conversation with Idril, accepting an invitation issued by his grandparents to pay visit to their kingdom. He learned, during the course of the dialogue that within the mountain realm a number of his closest kin were gathered, among them Turgon, his wife, and Dior and Nimloth. So long sundered from his family, Elrond had not known how to seek them when he had arrived in Valinor. The distance of years and no acquaintance rendering him estranged though his kin lived within a month's ride from his home. Caught up in the storms of emotion Ereinion had wreaked within his life, he had not found the strength to face any further encounters. Yet hearing the names and the willingness of his kin to speak with him, Elrond promised that he would attend them in their court when he was able. Tuor prevailed upon him to make it soon.

"It has been so many years since our son was parted from us. There is much of him I see in you, Elrond," Tuor said, his grey eyes travelling the contours of Elrond's features.

Sadness was reflected in the mirrored depths of his eyes, of a loss never forgotten and unfailing admiration for one passed beyond the reach of his kin. Elrond felt for a moment as though Tuor saw not Elrond, but Earendil. And the almost legendary hero the tales depicted became Tuor's son to Elrond's mind. In the presence of his kin, his father's parents, Elrond felt for the first time that he could touch the person that had lived behind the myth that now held him upon a pedestal in time. He felt an indescribable surge of emotion inside him and for a moment turned his gaze out beyond the windows to the stars. It was comforting to believe that there was someone not so far removed as the guardian star he had gazed upon throughout his life. Someone in Earendil who was not only a great hero of the past, a shining star in the heavens, or intrepid wanderer who had sailed the oceans wide, but a child, a son. Family. Tuor followed his gaze and he felt the gentle pressure of his grandfather's hand upon his shoulder in comfort.

"He watches over you," Idril said softly. "He lives in you, Elrond. We speak to him each night before we rest. And to see you now it is as though we have our son returned to us."

Elrond shook his head, his throat tight with emotion. "I am not he," he whispered in a voice made raw with sorrow.

"In features you are as your mother fair, yet of those tales I hear you have his courage and his bold heart," Tuor replied.

"The tales of my father that I have heard incline me to believe that 'twas my twin, Elros, who echoed our father in mind and spirit," Elrond quietly demurred, pained at the obvious need in the gentle voice of his grandfather.

Tuor nodded pensively. "I would hear you tell of you brother, if you will, when you come to us."

"Of course," Elrond promised.

"As would I," Idril said then. She smiled at his troubled expression. "You are the son of our son, Elrond. That is all that we ask you to be. And it brings us much comfort."

Again she smiled and Tuor nodded, and the weight lifted from Elrond's chest even as Idril continued.

"But you are your father's son, Elrond of the half-elven clan. You are a wanderer; nay, I say not mariner, for the ocean, it seems, calls not to you. You sail the paths of knowledge with all the desire your sire bent upon the sea, yet you are not corrupted by its power. You dance with its music and you let it flow past you when you wish to stop. Yet always you listen."

The intensity with which she regarded him compelled him to hold his grandmother's eyes and when she touched his cheek the coolness of her fingers startled him.

She drew back and Elrond caught his breath once more, surprised by the intimacy of her insight, and suffused by the quiet sense of completion evoked by his kin. Idril smiled and picked up her wineglass once more.

"When you come to us we will tell you of your father, and Dior will gladly speak to you of Elwing - to spare you yet more second hand tales should we narrate them to you. Long have we wondered at your absence, long have we feared that you would not wish to repair that damage of time and distance between us. To hear that you wish to come to us is a delight indeed."

Elrond inclined his head. "I am sorry," he said quietly. "I knew not how to begin this dance with those who have spun my destiny from their unities and yet been so apart from it."

"And of course the return of your guardian and king must have occupied your time," Tuor said, nodding kindly toward Ereinion. "He obviously dearly cares for you, and you for him."

The other elf had glanced toward them, noting Elrond's quiet emotion, and now with silent inquiry in his eyes, met Elrond's gaze. Elrond smiled and nodded to assuage Ereinion's concern. When he turned away, Elrond spoke his agreement to Tuor.

"When you attend us then, bring him along," offered Idril kindly. "Our lines are tied by the complex web of loves and loyalties only those of our long-lives can weave. We would welcome him as kin and we are much indebted to him for being guardian to you where your own kin could not. And, Elrond, you must speak of Elros, of whom we have also heard much and know not what to believe."

Elrond felt his throat tighten at the mention of his long-departed twin.

"I do not know if there are words to describe Elros," he whispered. His thoughts turned to his twin, in every way Elrond's physical double and mental opposite. Elros of the line of men was hardy, tough and boisterous to Elrond's quieter, steadfast endurance. Elros was a man who came out fighting and saw things through unto their end. Who did all he could in the time he was given, and ended with a sense of great accomplishments completed, leaving behind a line that had endured the ages Elrond had seen. Fire and water, yin and yang, they had been an eternal puzzle to each other. In their early years their differing viewpoints had been the cause of much division, though in later ones each other's viewpoint was appreciated, understood, and still not taken. Yet always they had been to one another an endless source of support. Elros had been gone too long for Elrond to miss his twin, but the sudden sense of his absence stung. As his mind recaptured the image of his brother, Elrond managed to smile the people who had never known their grandchildren. "But I can try."

"Then come," Idril said, and it was a command. But one to which he was more than willing to yield.

The moon was high and passing the peak of midnight before the society of Tirion's court could be escaped, and Elrond retired to bed with a sense of something he had not realised was missing being found. The eerie sense of somehow being incomplete before; only recognised in retrospect as the missing pieces to the jigsaw of his ancestry were placed in the palm of his hand. He walked in a haze of pleasant thought at Ereinion's side as they followed a page to their allocated quarters, conscious of the weight of exhaustion that was Ereinion's silence.

Discretion demanded that they slept in separate chambers, for the less familiar society of Tirion did not permit their liaison with Ereinion still in his minority; only Cirdan's understanding of the situation rendered it acceptable in the Welcome House. And so they parted at the door to Elrond suite with only brief words of goodnight. But, some hours before dawn, Gil-galad knocked upon Elrond's door and, with several epithets regarding death grief and consequential exhaustion, requested a sleeping draught. Then Elrond remained with him for a several hours, trusting that the house would be sufficiently occupied not to notice him as he retired to his own rooms barely half an hour before dawn.

The council was held the following day and, for the first time since his arrival in Valinor, Elrond encountered its high king, Ingwe. Tall, and raw-boned in his features, Ingwe's thick fall of hair was deepest chestnut in hue, resting just below his shoulders and unbraided beneath his crown. He had an air of supreme self-certainty. His expression was one of calm relaxation, but his blue eyes were alert and attentive. Elrond's half-wondered, looking at him, if Ingwe was descended from Manwe himself. Yet the appraising look the high king ran over both Elrond and Ereinion as they were introduced to him, altered the peredhel's perception somewhat. Ingwe's greeting was cordial, yet he eyed them both a little too closely until Ereinion arched his eyebrows in unspoken question.

Ingwe smiled slightly. "Forgive me, my lords Elrond and Gil-galad, your reputations have preceded you."

Elrond nodded politely as Ereinion answered calmly enough, "As has yours, my lord king."

Elrond resisted the temptation to elbow his partner, for Ingwe cast Ereinion a slightly suspicious look, one that Elrond felt was entirely justified.

"Watch your tongue," he murmured as they took their seats. "You are not the high king here, Ereinion, you cannot afford to offend Ingwe."

"I have no intention of doing so," Ereinion muttered back. "But to address me as Gil-galad was a fault upon his part."

"It was a title both earned and deserved that you have every right to be addressed by in this lifetime. But I see your point; to speak of us by reputation alone implies that he is making assumptions that may not hold true, based on reported information. That is perhaps incautious, although I expect he will make his own observations."

Ereinion shook his head. "There is more to it than that. You are not a lord here either. Yet he spoke to us as nearly equals; either he is very sure of himself, or he is reluctant to offend us."

"What do you know of him?" Elrond whispered as the rest of the council began to take its seats.

"Precious little," Ereinion shrugged. "Except that he does not concern himself with attending the council meetings unless he is absolutely required, which implies a belief that his authority supersedes that of the council."

Cirdan slid into a seat beside Elrond and interjected. "He is the high king, Ereinion."

"The statement was neutral," Ereinion answered. "I was making an observation, not a judgement."

Cirdan's expression grew sceptical, but he let the matter slide.

Silmarien presented her king and Ingwe rose to address the council and propose the alteration in the council hierarchy. Glances flickered around the gathering as Upper Council speculatively regarded Lower and wondered about its decision. It was more than evident that the Upper Council had met before to discuss the matter and the formalities of public discussion were all the meeting would amount to. Elrond regarded each of the members carefully; trying to gauge the reactions they would have had time to temper. Idril and Tuor seemed calm, watching Ereinion with interest and then glancing at Elrond in turn. Olwe's features were tense, and Finfarin's somewhat gloomy. Ingwe was cool and inscrutable, his lips set into the faintest hint of an unreadable smile, the epitome of good-natured disinterest. Gandalf sat slightly apart, his intense eyes scrutinising ever face as from his pipe a faint smoke rose and drifted upon the air to wreath the gathering. Bilbo had fallen asleep and Frodo was prodding him experimentally, his eyes quickly scanning faces in the hope that no one had noticed. Elrond flicked a friendly eyebrow at him and the hobbit grinned sheepishly, giving Bilbo's shoulder a gentle shake until the old hobbit lifted his head and unashamedly smiled in turn.

The expected outburst came from an unexpected quarter, as Oropher, invited in his silent capacity of observer, turned to Ereinion with a sneer of long ingrained resentment. "I cannot imagine why anyone should think Ereinion is appropriate for this task," he drawled. His scornful gaze pierced Ereinion's steady stare. "You are not the high king any more, Ereinion. You are no one. No one but a kin-slayer whose only right to life is him." Oropher jerked his thumb disparagingly at Elrond. "You are naught more than a maiden in our midst - a possession, an ornament to improve Elrond's world."

There was a collective intake of breath from the Lower Council, and Ingwe's eyebrows shot skyward. Elrond half rose to challenge the insolent Sindar, but Ereinion held up a hand to pacify him.

"Elrond, peace. If Oropher has quite finished then perhaps we may return to business."

"I have not," Oropher interrupted, rising to his feet and leaning forward to address Gil-galad in icy tones.

"Very well," Ereinion answered, his voice insultingly casual. "You are entitled to your opinions, Oropher. But you and I both are of the unofficial council. This discussion must wait until after the meeting."

Oropher's eyes narrowed and his lips closed into a thin line; impotent rage contorted his features. To continue was to rudely disrupt a respected council; to be silent would result in addressing Gil-galad, as an official member of the council, once the meeting had concluded. Oropher slowly lowered himself into his seat. Elrond exhaled quietly. A hand touched his under the table and he gave Ereinion's fingers a squeeze. The grip was returned, hard, as Ereinion controlled his automatic anger at Oropher and then stroked the back of Elrond's hand.

Ingwe had been watching the interaction with interest and now he rose, shaking back his auburn mane of hair. "Having conferred with the Upper Council it has been agreed that your proposed leader is an acceptable choice for the kingship of the Lower Council," he raised a cautionary finger, "on certain conditions. Ereinion Gil-galad, you are seven years from your majority being now of three and forty years. The honorary title is now bestowed upon you. In your fiftieth year it is required that you leave this House and establish your own realm. By blood right you may claim lands in the realm of the Noldor, which Finarfin will willingly discuss with you at any time you may arrange together. Alternatively you may approach either myself or Olwë for lands in our realms for there is no deliberate segregation of our kindred. You then have a period of fifty years in which to firmly establish your realm and, should this successfully be achieved, the kingship of the Lower Council is yours to claim. Until this time we have understood that Elrond Peredhel, formerly herald of Lindon, lord of Imladris, is to stand as leader in your place. Are these terms both correct and acceptable to you?"

Ereinion rose with a nod. "Indeed my lord high king. The terms you propose are accurate and acceptable."

Ingwe inclined his head. "So be it. It is done."

"And so another of the Noldor is instated into this balanced Council," Oropher muttered darkly at Cirdan's side.

Elrond glanced at him thoughtfully. The majority of the Sindarin elves had constructed their new residences in Tol Eressea and there was no representative among their people in the Council. Elrond found himself thinking with unusual regret that Thranduil had not crossed the sea. Personal dislike of the elven king made him no less of a ruler of his people. And, Elrond realised, Thranduil would have been made delighted beyond measure to be reunited with his idolised father. Oropher, Elrond reminded himself, had been a man skilled in ways that were cause to overlook his spiteful tongue. He had done much for the Sindarin elves, creating for them a great kingdom with intricate defences in an area of dangerous land, making them a great force. He was a clever creature though little given to introspection. Though reckless to his emotions, he was a devoted perfectionist and considerate of the skills both men and women could offer alike. Oropher seemed barely aware of his prior existence, yet it was clear that echoes of his former life were again coming to light and Oropher had the knowledge buried deep within to do much for the Sindarins once more.

Olwe, his lips pulled into a taught line, spoke then. "With that decided, my lords and ladies, is there anything else that should be brought to the council's attention?"

Elrond caught the Teleri's eye and nodded. "Oropher, formerly of the Greenwood and now of the House of Valinor, has just alerted me to an interesting point. If we observe our numbers this day we must note that, despite the influx of people's from Middle-earth, we do not have a representative for the Sindarin and Sylvan elves."

There was a startled silence. Ereinion's gaze flew to his partner's face with shock evident in the motion, if not upon his countenance. Yet his eyes narrowed thoughtfully and he too scanned the gathering. Oropher too stared at Elrond.

"Nor is there a realm within Valinor in which they are united," Idril observed, breaking the speculative quiet.

"That is indeed so," Ingwe remarked calmly. "The Sindar do not originate from these lands that we all name as our home, yet they are welcome here."

"Then they need representation," Elrond said firmly. "One or more of the Sindarin elves will be required to sit upon this council if we are to unite our kindred. Oropher himself is well placed to commute betwixt Tol Eressea and Valinor to speak with those abroad and the Sindarin minority that reside herein. Perhaps he could convince one among the elves of Tol Eressea to join with us."

Olwe considered the matter for a moment and glanced at Ingwe. The high king nodded.

"I confess that I like not your attitude, Oropher," Ingwe said idly. "But you have raised a valid concern and perhaps your participation in these affairs may prove a challenge to our ways of thinking, which those of Middle-earth believe sorely necessary."

He nodded once more and Olwe spoke. "That is an acceptable proposal, lord Elrond. If Oropher is amenable to it then he will begin communications between the two realms immediately and in his fiftieth year he will be accepted into the Lower Council to continue that duty, and if he wishes to establish and speak for a realm of the Sindarin minority here in Valinor that would be acceptable to the Council. He will of course answer to yourself and subsequently Gil-galad."

Elrond was hard pressed to stifle the urge to laugh. Though he had not thought of it in terms of comeuppance, to be both honour and insult Oropher in the invitation was suitably delightful given the Sindar's detestable treatment of his Noldor peer. Oropher's face was a contorted mixture of outrage and dismay. His eyes flashed with fury even as he mastered his features to conceal the affront to his dignity. He nodded curtly, a strangled agreement forced from his throat. Elrond relaxed as the Sindar cleared his throat and more calmly assented. Oropher's attitude Elrond had no great liking for, but, in the absence of his son, whom Elrond had privately preferred as a ruler of the Sindarin elves, Oropher would fight the quarter of his people. A representation it was clear they greatly needed.

Ereinion grimaced slightly and Elrond, casting his companion a sidelong look, caught sight of Cirdan's rather frozen expression. The heads of Upper and Lower Council were a Teleri and a Noldor, whose history of discord was sung back to the days of the kin-slayings. To add to that Oropher, much as the Sindarin elves required a representative, was going to be at odds with Ereinion. Again. Kill or cure, Elrond decided firmly. Perhaps with the mediation of the other council members there was some hope of the disunity between the races being laid to rest.

Breaking the somewhat stunned silence, Ingwe leaned back in his chair with a smile.

"And now perhaps we can speak more companionably," he continued. "Gentlefolk shall we adjourn? I would very much like to speak with Gil-galad of his experiences since his rebirth for it is a subject I find most fascinating. Many of us who have remained in Valinor witness the return of lost peoples, and their stories are most intriguing."

Ereinion went very still. Elrond could feel the tension radiating from his lover and he discreetly touched Ereinion's hand. There was no response.

"If I may, my lord," Glorfindel began quietly, "It is none to easy to speak of such times, perhaps Ereinion..."

"Nay, Glorfindel, it is fine," Ereinion interjected. His voice was emotionless, his features inscrutable. "If the high king wishes to hear my tale then I shall do his bidding."

Ingwe's eyes narrowed slightly and he chuckled softly. "Perhaps it is only I, being so well used to distinguishing the finest notes in music, but I hear reluctance concealed in that tone. Tell me, is it strange to address another as high king in your stead?"

Elrond felt Gil-galad's tension ease suddenly, and beneath the table Ereinion's fingers curled over his in a reassuring clasp. This was ground upon which he did not fear to tread. Ereinion gently loosed Elrond's hand and rose with Ingwe to retire.

"Indeed it is, yet it has only become so in recent years. I find that it is the title over which I stumble, however, and not the authority that it names. In both my childhoods I have answered to lords and kings; that is not so strange. I believe I find merely the term 'high king' peculiar in that I am conscious it once related to myself..."

Elrond stood back as Ereinion moved to walk with Ingwe and felt Glorfindel materialise beside him. "Thank you," he murmured quietly. "For intervening."

Glorfindel nodded slightly, laying a hand on Elrond's shoulder.
"Of course. Ingwe understands once he is reminded. Ecthelion and myself have both recalled our tales for his ears, and many others who have returned also. I think personally Ingwe likes to hear of Middle-earth, for though he had not the desire to travel there, he is interested by all of the Valar's creation."

Elrond nodded pensively, watching Ingwe languidly take his seat in the adjacent chamber. There was a certain self-assurance in the elder elf's air that reminded him of Ereinion, yet watching them together, Elrond was struck by something else. Ingwe maintained a level of aloofness, almost secrecy that projected from him in his movements. A superiority that had echoes in Olwë too, though Finarfin had it not. Indeed Finarfin seemed the least confident of the three elders - and he appeared to regard Ereinion as a threat.

"Ingwe is of good character then," Elrond said slowly.

"Mistake him not," Galadriel's voice said quietly into his mind and Elrond started at the unexpected intrusion. Galadriel was unable to attend the council set in Tirion. Elrond had been forewarned that she would contact him if necessary through the mental linkage they had used to communicate during their time in Middle-earth, yet he had forgotten and was temporarily disarmed, feeling vulnerable at the ease with which she spoke into his mind. Yet he listened carefully to her words, for she had also promised not to invade unless there was need. "That one is not above securing his own position. To be so close to a god is to see oneself as a god, yet the Valar are a law unto themselves. He is not a god, and he is vulnerable in that knowledge."

She spoke no more and Elrond, puzzling over her cryptic warning moved into the other room to keep a wary eye on Ingwe.

True Colours

For the duration of their stay in Tirion Ereinion became Gil-galad to the public eye, playing the role as one who has for many years learned to hide all emotion beneath a created persona. He wore the personality like darkness behind water creates a mirror. The character people knew was reflected from what they hoped to see. Gil-galad laughed with them, spoke at length of times past, times to come, studied the organisation of the realms with Cirdan, and then bid all a fond goodnight, leaving his created character in their minds. But that day at the council meeting had wrought a change upon him, one that Elrond noted, but could not understand separated as they were during the long night hours. While the persona Ereinion assumed each morning was a reflection of his self, it lacked at times the ingenuousness of emotion that would make it real.

With the majority of their hours wrapped up in courting society or conferring with the other members of both Lower and Upper Council to ascertain that no pressing problems were overlooked, Elrond found there was little opportunity to unmask Ereinion. Even the time spent cloistered in the study allocated to them was often in the company of Cirdan and Oropher, affording no chance for personal conversations.

Oropher parted from them during the third week of their stay, to begin discussions with the Sindarin elves. He rode out from Tirion to meet with Galadriel, who would accompany and assist him during the journey to Tol Eressea, for her realm was located closest to it and she was spending much of her time there.

The evening sky beyond the windows was shrouded in clouds of dusty violet that same night, and the stars were hidden from even elvin sight. The dark seemed all encompassing. Elrond, sat at the desk absently chewing the end of his quill, found himself quite unable to focus upon the geography of Aman that was being laid out. The script was beginning to slant down the parchment erratically as his eyes slipped closed. He blinked, giving his head a shake. Ereinion and Cirdan's low murmur of conversation as they discussed areas suited to the construction of a realm and the click of the pen in the ink well failed to register in his ears. The notations and gesticulating fingers suggested that progress was being made and Elrond wished to remain awake long enough to establish the final outcome. Both of the full-blooded elves, however, required much less sleep than Elrond's measure of humanity demanded from him. Elrond sighed, leaning his forehead into his hand. It was not, he suspected, quite past the midnight hour. Another half-hour's movement of the moon, he promised himself, and then he would give up and retire to bed. But his eyes drifted closed of their own accord.

And snapped open.

Ereinion was shaking his arm gently. Cirdan had risen from his seat and was gathering together his papers and maps. He nodded to each of his companions and then departed, leaving Elrond to blink sleepily at Ereinion.

"Forgive me," he murmured. "Have you come to a conclusion yet?"

Ereinion shook his head. "No, it can wait until dawn. I want to talk to you before I make a decision."

Elrond nodded gratefully. He picked up his papers and bid Ereinion goodnight. A hand caught his arm, spun him around and pulled him close. Elrond capitulated, his lips meeting Ereinion's in a searing kiss. Awkwardly they embraced, crushing Elrond's papers between them, the kiss rough and clumsy as Ereinion kept a wary eye on the door. They drew back, too tense to linger, and Ereinion smoothed down the front of Elrond's robes.

"A curse upon the foibles of society," he muttered. "Over three thousand years and nothing has changed."

Elrond pressed a finger over his lips, traced the line of Ereinion's jaw with soft fingers and then swiftly turned and left.

He exited the room, turning to close the door behind him, and from inside came a violent crash. Thrusting his papers onto a nearby bench, Elrond hurried back to find Ereinion leaning against the wall; one hand clenched into a fist, pressed against the stonework, his forehead resting on his forearm. He looked up, startled, as Elrond entered, and a shadow of guilt passed across his face. His maps and notes were scattered across the floor, his inkwell smashed upon the unyielding flags, a dark stain spreading as from a fatal wound.

Elrond closed the door behind him and leaned against it, staring at Ereinion. He moved on hand behind his back, locked the door, and then walked to Ereinion's side. He laid a hand on Ereinion's breast, felt the racing beat of his heart beneath.
"Ereinion, are you unwell? I am not sure quite what was worthy of quite such a dramatic reaction."

Ereinion choked on a laugh. He held Elrond closer for a moment, until his breathing began to steady. He drew back and stroked Elrond's hair, sighing softly.
Never mind me, love. Go to bed. This is hardly the first time you have seen me throw papers across a room."

Elrond chuckled, relieved his unease did not sound in his voice.
"Admittedly not. But I would know your concerns or I shall not rest in peace."

Ereinion shook his head, stepping away and walking back to the desk. He pushed the remaining papers about and shook his head, throwing them down again.
"It is just this." He waved a hand at the scattered leaves of parchment.

"What?" Elrond asked, picking up a stray sheet. His eyes scanned quickly over the locations of other realms, the main trade and travel routes… Puzzled, he lifted his eyes to Ereinion.

Ereinion shook his head again, and moved away, walking to the window and staring out at nothing.

"Ereinion?" Elrond stared after him, feeling his heart sink at the strange sense that Ereinion had in some indefinable way exited the room, even Arda itself, in that single gesture.

Only silence greeted him. Elrond lifted another sheet, and another, seeing only the most mundane of essential records a lord could keep. Nothing that would explain anything. He put the papers down. Elrond closed his eyes, pressing both palms flat against the desk. Despair welled from somewhere deep within him, from the dark, hopeless core of dread that lurked from memories of Celebrian's soul-darkening grief. Lifting a shaking hand, Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose, his fingers digging into the corners of his eyes as he fought to keep his lids closed against the watery heat that burned his orbits.

He did not see Ereinion turn, nor registered even that the seemingly impassive figure had moved until strong arms enfolded him, drawing him against the broad chest of his lover. Elrond leaned against him, keeping his eyes closed until he trusted himself to reopen them without giving way to tears of utter frustration. Ereinion's fingers smoothed through his hair, and the continuing silence seemed less oppressive.

Finally Ereinion drew away, with a parting kiss to Elrond's hair.
"It is not the actual paperwork," he said finally, shifting to sit upon the edge of the desk. "It is doing the paperwork."

Elrond stared at him hopelessly.
"Ereinion, I do not understand."

Ereinion shook his head and muttered, "Neither do I. Why am I here, doing the paperwork?"

Elrond blinked at him, confusion whirling his thoughts.
"I thought that you wanted to establish your own realm?"

Ereinion nodded, his gaze drifting listlessly away.
"I did not mean that. I meant why am I here at all…in Arda?"

Elrond caught his breath, words escaping him as Ereinion lifted haunted eyes to his face. Drawing in a deep breath he spoke quietly. "You must have chosen to return, while you were…out of time. You will have been offered the choice to return to life, and you accepted, if my understanding of the terms of release from Mandos' Halls is true."

"I know, I know." Ereinion exhaled heavily.

Elrond was silent for a moment. Then, in a voice carefully devoid of emotion, he asked,
"Do you regret it?"

"No!" Ereinion's reply was instant. His fingers quickly caressed the tense perimeter of Elrond's face. "No. I did not mean that."

Elrond took his hands, allowing himself a quiet exhale of relief.
"Then what is this about?"

Ereinion sighed, staring at the floor. "I meant…why was I even offered the choice?" He looked up again, meeting Elrond's eyes. "I may not well like Oropher, Elrond, but a measure of that I must confess is because he makes me question myself. Whether I like it or I like it not, my family were the kin-slayers. I am, even now, the son of Fingon, Fingolfin's son. My ancestry makes me a direct descendant of one of the main protagonists. Those so closely involved with the slaughters on these shores have met their own deaths, through their own actions, and none are returned from the Halls. They are not permitted to, for such is the eternal - and deserved, I fear - curse of the Noldor line."

"It is not so comprehensive as once it was," Elrond offered gently. "I know that my father pled for the ban to be lifted upon the descendant of the Noldor and legend tells that it was granted."

"But who else is here, Elrond?" Ereinion asked, softly, almost inaudibly. "Few, Elrond. Very, very few and none so closely tied to the kin-slayers. Then why, Elrond? Why me?"

Unable to offer a word of comfort, Elrond was silent...

"Because you are meant to be, Ereinion Gil-galad, son of Fingon, and now of Tirion, fostered by Cirdan the Shipwright. It is the will of the Valar that the doom of your line be lifted for those who deserve it so. Your task you met and it was done. Your penalty is paid for the mistakes you made in your life and those of your forebears. Now you have a new task, one of your choosing, though in that same choice 'tis the one that Illuvatar deems to be your path. This is your freedom, and your prison, for good and for ill. You are a child of Illuvatar, and you walk in this, the world of his children, because it is his will."

...Elrond lifted his head finally, sighing. "I think, Ereinion, that perhaps we are just meant to be."

Ereinion was, however, staring toward the window once more, yet far from vacant the expression in his eyes was one of surprise, and relief. Elrond turned to glance in the same direction, and saw that the stars had appeared in the sky. The clear line of Menelmacar's belt, which formed the image of the warrior heralding the eventual coming of the Last Battle, glowed brightly for a few moments.

"Ereinion?"

A smile - the first true smile Elrond had seen from him in days - formed on Ereinion's lips as he looked back at Elrond and nodded. "I think I have my answer," he said softly.

Puzzled, Elrond looked toward the window, but again, there was nothing there. And the stars were not showing in the clouded night. Elrond smiled too. Elbereth, he realised, and sent a quiet thank you to the Lady of the Stars.

* * * *

Having been so far removed from court society for so long, Elrond grew quickly tired of it. Though he found the society of the council interesting, particularly those of his kin among them, he also found them tiresome. Tirion was the centre of the Noldor culture and so the talk was frequently of gems and the crafts of the fine city. Finarfin, Elrond was able to establish, was a skilled craftsman himself, and a good manager of his people. But he was fiercely defensive of what remained of his kin, and the infamous hot-temper of the Noldor tempered had echoes within him. Finarfin was a traditionalist, long in years and memory. Olwe, on the other hand, so often found at odds with Finarfin, was also evidently very close to him, for they were in laws by an ancient marriage. They stood now together in deep discussion with, to Elrond's interest, Haldir, who was representing Galadriel while the council met in Tirion.

While Elrond spoke politely to those he had to - and with more relief to Glorfindel and Cirdan - Ereinion seemed in his element. He and Ingwe often talked with the ease of long time acquaintances. Although there was a certain calculating wariness in the eyes of each that Elrond noted upon occasions, as two natural leaders felt the tension of innate alpha-statuses between them. Elrond was careful not to keep his eyes on Ereinion for too long, as he was more than aware of the impressions that could create.

Ereinion, to give him credit, played the same part he ever had. For the simple appearance of the thing he gave no indication that he and Elrond were involved in any way beyond business and friendship. It almost, absurdly, hurt. Elrond had grown used to Celebrian being able to show her affection in public circles, the simple wrap of an arm about a waist, or to rise and waltz to the minstrel's song, without seeing reproving frowns upon countenances the repercussions of which would long be felt. He had half hoped that in time that would be the way with Ereinion, something they had been denied during their time in Lindon. But it could not be so. Certainly not until Ereinion was of age. And even after that, working together in the political circles once more, any sign of more intimate relationship would be regarded with disapproval for fear that personal matters should intrude. There was sufficient tension between Olwe and Finarfin to demonstrate how complex private matters interwoven with political ones could be.

With a private sigh of resignation, Elrond made his excuses to his compatriots and slipped out into the corridors. The passages were long and beautifully sculpted, with statues that cast long shadows upon the marbled floors. Yet all the corridors were interior and one had to pass through chambers to reach the external walkways. Picking a door at random, Elrond gave the handle a tug. It did not move and for a moment he thought it was locked, then it gave under his hand. It opened into a small antechamber that allowed passage onto the outdoor paths, and Elrond stepped gratefully into the freedom of the night air. The city was spread before him, a sparkling tribute to the great crafts of the Noldor people given to them by Aule, and a reminder of the passion that had proved their undoing. Elrond's gaze fell thoughtfully to Vilya as he recalled Ereinion's words after another council meeting. "I would make the same decision, if it were mine to make once more." Elrond wondered if the decision to retain the elven rings of power had been a decision of pure practicality based upon the powers of the rings, or if it had been a legacy to Ereinion's ancestry.

It mattered little. Vilya glowed sapphire in the pale night and, for a brief moment, Elrond considered throwing the ring into the glittering fountain that tumbled over itself in the courtyard beneath. The material value of the gem meant naught to him and in many ways she had been a subtle mistress to whom he had long been enslaved. Yet he had been the willing servant of his people, as any good ruler should be. And powerless Vilya represented only the greatest trust, faith, and love Ereinion had placed in Elrond. Something he would not ever throw away. He gazed into the endlessly flowing iridescent fountain and contemplated throwing Oropher in there instead. He was still irritated by the Sindarin elf's ability to trouble Ereinion, but fortunately for the maintenance of civilised behaviour in society, the Sindarin elf was far away and occupied upon a beneficial mission.

Thinking upon Ereinion, Elrond realised that he knew of one other fairly closely tied to the kin-slayers who had been returned to life, one who was supposed, in fact, to reside in Tirion now and yet had not been seen. And, when he heard soft footfalls behind him, Elrond turned to face that very person. She stood in the shadows, a thin finger of moonlight affording a glimpse of a bright eye and a long strand of crimson hair falling over it.

"Ardis?"

She emerged, slowly, her head cocked to one side.
"Elrond? Oh! Glad greetings to you and welcome to Tirion." Smiling, she joined him in the moonlight and stood by the rail. "I hope this night finds you well, Elrond."

"Indeed it does," Elrond began, but Ardis continued to speak.

"Elrond, Elrond," she repeated thoughtfully. "Lord Elrond. Of Imladris. And Gil-galad was an elven king." Her voice was singsong and broke suddenly into jagged laughter.

Puzzled, Elrond frowned. "My lady? Are you quite well?"

She glanced at him sharply, as if startled, and then nodded.
"Forgive me, yes. I am quite well. And yourself?"

His brows still drawn, Elrond nodded. "Thank you, I am."

"Good." Ardis curled her fingers around the balcony rail, rocked forward on tiptoe to gaze down over the edge of the walkway and then sank back onto flat feet again. "Gil-galad too?"

"Yes. Ereinion is,..as well as can be expected. Have you not seen him?"

She shook her head. "I must."

"He would welcome you, I am certain. Where are you staying? I can ask him to call upon you."

Briefly Elrond faltered, wondering what society would make of such a visit to an unwedded woman and then pushed the thought aside. It would be a few years before that dance began again.

Ardis shrugged. "Here. I stay here. In the west wing."

"Very well. When would it be convenient for him to wait upon you? Three weeks we have been here, I am surprised you have not come to him before."

"Three weeks?" Ardis seemed surprised. "I did not know that."

"Would the tenth hour on the morrow be suitable to visit?"

Ardis turned her gaze out across the cityscape. "The door will be locked." She sighed. "It is always locked."

Elrond felt the first stirrings of unease prickle down his spine.
"Why? Ardis, what do you mean?"

She did not reply. Instead she slowly released her grip upon the railing and lifted her hands, turning them palm uppermost. This way and that she tilted milk-white palms in the moonlight for inspection. Then slowly, methodically, she began to rub them together, twisting her fingers and scrubbing at the skin. She looked at Elrond once more, her eyes distant and sad.

"It never comes out," she said conversationally. "Blood never washes out."

Then she turned and walked away.

Elrond watched her drift into the shadows and the night air seemed suddenly cold against his skin. He retraced his steps to the entrance door and by the light of his candle examined the lock. The wood around the metal was gouged and the lock shiny with scratches. The point of a poniard jutted from the broken lock that had finally opened under his hand.

TBC...