valinorsixteenthrutwenty

On the Shores of Valinor 16: Forbidden Fruit.
by 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: This is set after Return of the King, when Elrond and others of Middle-earth have departed for the West and the Undying Lands.

A rapid knocking upon the door startled Ereinion out of his reverie. He had been allowing his mind to drift upon the currents of morning air that were gently circulating the chamber. The phantasmagorical visions of the previous night that had driven him fearfully to Elrond's chamber had diminished a little with the telling of Elrond's tale. He knew now how he had come to meet Elrond, how the kin-slayings had connected their lives. He suppressed a shudder at the memories of the blood-bathed halls, emptily ringing when there should have been families, children within. There had been families, though none living. A mercy that the children had not been among the dead. "Come away, my lord." The echo of a voice he thought he knew, but could not place, summoned him once more from the dream realm. Ereinion closed his eyes, feeling sick again at the mind-sight of the dead, butchered beyond recognition. When their quest to reclaim the Silmarils had failed, the intruders had turned to vengeance to vent their wrath. But at least now he understood. The images belonged to a time long ago and though anger and nausea rose within him at the sight, he knew, with another surge of anger, that it was long finished with, beyond alteration.

Yet the newer visions that had awoken him some hours hence were still elusive of explanation. He let his mind shift back over the dream paths, trying to recapture the pictures and find some meaning within them.

"Bar the gates!" It was his own voice, though the timbre was changed and foreign to his childish ears. "I will not permit him access to Lindon! Air and Fire, have I not refused his every herald? Yet still he comes!"

The last was an aside, spoken in a lower tone, though with no less anger. The great oaken doors marking the entrance to the vast stone chamber boomed closed, shielding all but the intended recipient from his quieted words.

"To bar the gates is an extreme measure, my lord." From his elbow spoke Elrond's voice. Gil-galad turned to him abruptly, his features clouded and Elrond's eyebrow arched up at the expression, mutely apprehending and checking the annoyance directed his way. "I mean only that it will greatly disturb, or worse yet, incense the people," Elrond quietly explained.

Gil-galad exhaled heavily. "I fear extreme measures are called for." He broke off with a shake of his head, searching for words to communicate his reasons.

Caught within the dream spell, Ereinion felt the pooling of disquiet within his soul, the prickling lines of suspicion that twisted within him. A shiver ran up his spine and the skin on his shoulder blades warily tightened as though the crested and carven chair behind him were a living presence concealed.

They were not his own emotions; they belonged to the time he was witnessing. He felt torn in two - Gil-galad was the elf in the dream, ordering the closing of the gates. Ereinion was the onlooker, the dreamer. He saw the words spoken by the other, watched Gil-galad's emotions while Ereinion stood back. And that small, detached part of him knew that it mattered not, no matter what his dream self, Gil-galad, did, no matter that he knew what was coming, while Ereinion did not; Gil-galad's actions were all in vain. An empty void hovered in some indefinable future point waiting to rush in, sucking life and limb from the dream and tear apart the fragile reality, retained only in memory and its place in time and space. It was like watching a play, where only the audience knows the ending while the actors are oblivious.

"I find it strange too, my lord," Elrond's quiet tones startled Gil-galad, who was mulling upon his growing unease. "That this Annatar should find the necessity to grant gifts to all he allies with, as though to buy their loyalty or blind them to the flaws that lie within the packaging."

Gil-galad smiled gratefully, nodding at his companion's words.
"Your scholarly tendencies bless your tongue with the words I cannot find," he acknowledged with a smile.

"You would damn your own eloquence to compliment mine," Elrond shook his head as he gently chided his companion. His voice dropped and he added with a playful smile. "I find you can be quite vocal, when the - need - arises." The slight inflection in his voice left no doubt as to his meaning. Gil-galad's chuckle reverberated softly around the chamber.

Then the doors had opened again and the cold jolt of suspicion tore away the brief moment of shared humour.

With Elrond's slumbering presence beside him, so familiar, and the protective cocoon of the bedcovers surrounding them, Ereinion pensively explored the vision. The name Annatar was unfamiliar to him, which implied it to be historically old. His knowledge of times long past was still poor at best, for in these lands it was shrugged of like the heavy burdensome cloaks the memories were to their elvin wearers. Before Elrond had arrived, Ereinion had sometimes found it inconceivable that a world called Middle-earth had ever existed.

"It does," Celebrían would cryptically smile.

"As it should be," Cirdan had quietly said.

Frustrated, Ereinion had once cried out: "So all that came before, that brought us here, falls to ash in memory and goes ever unrecognised by all those who live now?"

Pain had splintered across the shipwright's features and he had bowed his head away.
"It is not our world any more, Ereinion," he had answered, laying his hand upon the younger elf's shoulder and changing the subject.

At other times he longed to visit Middle-earth, knowing without really knowing that the place existed, each speaking of the place bringing it to mind so vividly, only to snatch it away again like an elusive spectre of something not quite real, but somehow familiar.

He thought back upon the dream again, pondering the peculiar "my lord" with which Elrond had addressed him in the second dream, something that echoed of a similar address in the first one, though he had not known the identity of the speaker that time. The guard on the restricted library had called him his lord too, and the uncomfortable equation with this and the teasing "master" with which Elrond had welcomed him was yet another piece of the puzzle that did not fit.

And even more confusingly there had been the inherently sexual undertone to the jest that Gil-galad and Elrond had shared in the dream. Even to one of his years the connotation was unmistakable. He touched his lips again, the memory of the kiss he had bestowed upon Elrond still tingling upon his flesh.

* * * *

It was then that the knock upon the door startled him from his thoughts. Ereinion sat up, glancing at Elrond uncertainly, and was relieved when the elder elf stirred, swiping sleepily at his eyes and making to rise. But the chamber door opened without consent. Elrond struggled upright, groping for the slipping edges of his robe. Celebrían, herself hastily robed, her wild hair fanning in golden disarray around her face, stood framed in the doorway.

"Elrond, you must come quickly..." She broke off as her sharp eyes caught sight of Ereinion. Her expression of anxiety turned to stone. Ereinion bit his lip, recognising her disapproval.

"Elrond." The single word was accompanied by a jerk of the head in the direction of the corridor and she turned on her heel.

Guiltily Ereinion looked at Elrond, only to discover an expression of deep perplexity on the elf-lord's face. He raised both eyebrows and shrugged a shoulder, sliding out of the bed.

"Excuse me a moment," he said and swiftly made his way outside.

Ereinion twisted the edges of the bedcovers together and winced inwardly. Evidently Celebrían had wanted to share her husband's chamber that night.

* * * *

Elrond closed the door behind him and tightened the loosened knot on his robe.
"I hope this is important, Celebrían," he remarked. "Could you not have allowed me to dress first?"

"I have seen you clothed in less," Celebrían retorted tartly.

Elrond lifted an eyebrow at her.
"Yes, but others who may roam these corridors have not," he protested mildly.

She ignored him.

"I came to you believing Ereinion to have disappeared and so when I entered my reason was indeed important." Celebrían spoke in the weary tones of one who had been close to frantic only moments previously. "And I hope," she continued, her voice growing severe. "That you will give me reason to think that the situation now is not even more serious..." She narrowed her eyes at him, her gaze sweeping over his rumpled robe and tousled hair. She shook her head. "Elrond, tell me not that what I see is so. I know how dearly you love Ereinion. Elbereth knows how long it took me to win your heart from his ghost and I do not begrudge him that he has claimed it once more. But he is not as he once was. Elrond, he is a child..." Her voice faltered and she looked at him with something perilously close to appeal in her eyes. Her slender hand she laid upon the wrist of the arms he had crossed before his chest. Her next words were imploring. "Tell me not that you...that you did not...take him to your bed...?"

For a moment Elrond was too startled to speak. His own revulsion at the idea of so corrupting a child was guiltily accompanied by the secret knowledge of the desire to do so with this child, who was and yet was not, and his iron-restraint that prevented him doing just that.

"Celebrían, I..." he began incoherently. Then he held up a hand, checking his own tongue before it could betray him. "Celebrían," he said more calmly. "I did take Ereinion to bed with me last night, but certainly not in the manner you presume. He slept in my chambers after a nightmare drove him from his own. I assure you that I did not share fleshly pleasures with him!"

Celebrian's tense shoulders dropped a little as she exhaled.
"Forgive me," she exhaled heavily, knowing he spoke the truth. "Elrond, I am sorry. It was a fright when I awoke and found him gone." She sighed again, her expression softening into sympathy and she touched Elrond's cheek, adding gently: "And I know how hard this must be for you."

She rose on tiptoe, lightly kissing his cheek and gave his hand a fond squeeze when he grasped hers. He watched her walk away down the corridor with a rueful smile, both for the time she referred to and the times that they had shared together.

* * * *

Opening the door to the chamber once more, Elrond was confronted by a pair of sparkling sapphire eyes, barely visible over the sheet held clamped to the grinning mouth in bunched fists. Ereinion's shoulders were shaking as he fought to restrain his mirth. Warily Elrond crossed the room to stand before the foot of the bed.

"And just what has amused you?" he enquired with mock severity.

"She..." Ereinion's words were muffled by the sheet - and his laughter. "She thought that you...and I..." He dissolved into peals of laughter again, falling flat back against the pillows, made boneless by his mirth.

Though the youngster's humour was a blessed relief after the distress of the previous night, the subject of his amusement was unexpectedly painful. A tense smile stretched quivering onto Elrond's lips for a few token seconds.

"Yes, she did," he said, forcing a chuckle.

"The way you spoke!" Ereinion snickered, for it was Elrond's response that had been the true cause of his entertainment, and all he could clearly hear through the closed door. "'I assure you that I did not...'" He broke off from an impressive rendition of Elrond's insulted indignation, cackling delightedly.

Elrond folded his arms, pretending to be peeved at the all-too-accurate imitation as he forced down the sting of Ereinion's amusement. The youngster took a deep breath, lowering his hands and grinned up at Elrond until he could not help but laugh a little too.

"Very entertaining," he remarked dryly, raising another chuckle from the youngster. "Come on, you had better get up before anyone else makes inappropriate assumptions!"

Ereinion slid to the edge of the bed, touching his feet to the floor and drawing patterns on the chill flags with one toe.
"Why would they?" he asked curiously. "You and Celebrían are married, are you not? It is not the way of our kind to stray from their wedded spouse's affections in search of another's."

Elrond hesitated. He was torn, caught between pouring out an explanation to Ereinion, his beloved, owner of his heart, the only one to whom he owed the truth in its completeness about the irretractable oaths sworn to Celebrían. And yet to do so would reveal the relationship Celebrían and Cirdan tactfully concealed. And... He forced himself to look, really look at the inquisitive youngster regarding him from behind a sleep-snarled curtain of hair, his oblivion all too apparent.

"Yes," he replied, not untruthfully. "Yes, we are."

Ereinion nodded distractedly. His sightline was fixed upon a crack in the flag and he traced the fault with his toe. Elrond watched him, puzzled. But disinclined to pursue the topic, he turned away to robe himself.

"It is curious," Ereinion said at length. "I find it strange to think of you as married."

Elrond paused, fastening the laces of his breeches.
"Oh?"

Ereinion looked up at him, his brow faintly indented with a frown.
"I did not think of you as the type to wed."

Elrond concentrated on knotting his breechcloth tightly. His fingers shook with the effort and the laces stubbornly refused to co-operate. Elven kind respected and acknowledged same gender marriages, though they were rarer in occurrence than those of opposite sex bindings. The pairing of the masculine and the feminine was more common when finding two souls that joined to become one, though those who found their true partners in one of the same gender could also be wedded, and such matches were not unheard of nor disapproved of.

Elrond and Gil-galad had long ago discussed the possibility of exacting such rites between them, but reluctantly they had come to conclude that it would be politically unwise. For a king to bind to his herald would not have been...seemly, and could have compromised the positions of each. And, as loathed as they had been to entertain such a prospect, they had both known that the day could come when duty forced them into political marriages, which sense dictated they remain open to engage in. It had been one of the few comforts to Elrond that Ereinion had long ago, with deepest regret, permitted him the freedom to wed if the need arose, an allowance Elrond had, with equal reluctance returned. Each had hoped then that it would never come to pass.

Elrond swallowed hard, his response forcedly non-committal and light: "So now there is a type of elf who does or does not wed?"

Ereinion shook his head slowly.
"Nooo. I did not mean it like that. I just thought that you ...would not," he finished lamely.

Elrond glanced up quickly, biting his tongue upon the words he grew ever more desperate to speak. The suddenly intense cobalt gaze caught him unprepared and he felt his hands slip to his sides. He drew in a lungful of air, trying to calm himself. The agony of the child's almost-recollection beat at Elrond, the question he wanted to ask of the youngster buzzing in his ears like a frantic bee. Why? Why would I not marry? He exhaled, slowly, deliberately.

Ereinion's gaze slipped away from Elrond's silent question, trailing down the naked chest, for the robe had pooled upon the floor. His eyes drifted over Elrond's sculpted flesh, slightly broader in stature than most elves, with dark shadowed patches of hair beneath his arm, curiously arousing in their individuality and uniqueness. His gaze slid onwards, to fix briefly upon the tiny taut peaks of nipples, drawn to rosy attention by the cool morning air. And again his eyes moved southwards, tracing the faint dark line of hairs etching the path from naval to groin, which disappeared mid-way behind the curtain of breechcloth. Elrond's chest rose and fell unsteadily, a light sweat casting a delicate sheen upon the fine torso as Ereinion's mesmerised gaze explored each visible inch.

Elrond's breath caught and the youngster rose abruptly, his features coloured with crimson.
"I...ah...excuse me," he muttered and stumbled toward the adjoining bathroom.

Not daring to move, Elrond remained still, clenching his fists as though he could hold back his will with his fingernails. Heat burned along his skin, flushing his cheeks to crimson hue. Whether it was the remembered, and renewed, longing he fought to contain, or partly sympathetic discomfort at the younger elf's obvious embarrassment, he did not know. But the desire in Ereinion's gaze had been unmistakable. The slam of the bathroom door startled him.

I Will Remember

Ereinion leaned his forehead against the cool stone of the wall that separated the bathroom from the bedchamber. Closing one fist he gently pounded it against the wall alongside his cheek, feeling the vibrations flit through the stone, and willed the pulsing ache in his groin to cease. But the agonising images seemed burned upon his orbits and the steady throbbing was relentless. Elrond was beautiful, something Ereinion had not truly appreciated before.

There was always the natural beauty to the elvin race, the fine sculpting of their physical forms: hair could resemble sunlight in golden streams, or water in silvery flow, or like his own - like Elrond's - polished wood turned to fine mahogany or obsidian hued manes. Eyes were like the crystals found in rocks, or glistening beneath the surface of the water, emerald and sapphire, or silvered metal. And their bodies, always suited to their places within the world - the wood elves slender and light, while those of the sea tended to be shorter in height and slightly stronger in frame. Those of his own race were tall and similarly strong in structure; the Noldor race was powerful in many ways.

Elrond was different, different to them all. Not so tall, though taller than the race of men, by scant inches. He was closer in height to those of the Teleri than those of his own elvish bloodline, the line of men within him showing its presence. Yet it was clearer still in his stature - he was slightly broader than many of the elves, the texture of his hair coarser, particularly where it formed patches of shadow beneath his arms, and the thin, seductive line that trailed from his naval into his breeches. How Ereinion knew that the touch of that hair was slightly rougher than the silken curtain that flowed from Elrond's head, he did not know. But he shuddered to imagine the tickling brush of that hair against his abdomen, the texture against his tongue as it traced the satiny flesh and passed over the scattering of hair.

The elvin lord's body was a warm, familiar presence alongside him and the roughened hands smoothing through his hair...

No!

The innocent, comforting touch and companionship of the previous night was warped as, in his mind, Elrond's fingers traced his jaw as he drew away from the caress.

Warm lips closed over his and a heated body pressed up against Ereinion's. The lips were gentle but insistent, fingers knotted into his hair sealing their lips together...

No!

Elrond drew back, a slight smile upon his lips and he gently took Ereinion's hand from his hair where the other elf had involuntarily clutched at Elrond's braids. His silvery eyes were luminous in the darkness, his smile filling his eyes with promises. He guided Ereinion's hand to his lips, kissing the back and then the palm, a gesture that was both submissive in status and possessive in turn. His lips drifted downwards and Ereinion caught his breath as the sensitive skin of his wrists was lovingly caressed, Elrond's tongue tracing the myriad veins pulsing tremulously beneath the surface.

Ereinion pressed his face into the stonework until the hard surface scratched at his cheek. He twisted his head and a long streamer of hair brushed against his wrist, the sensation curiously tantalising. He flinched from it, clenching his fist and lightly striking the wall again in renewed, but forcibly restrained, despair. He dared not hit the chamber wall too hard, lest Elrond hear and enter. He knew he had not thought to lock the door. His imagination flowed onwards...

Ereinion shuddered, feeling Elrond's hips thrust against him, the long legs parting beneath his own. Elrond's skin grew damp beneath Ereinion's fingers as he slid his hands slowly up the other elf's back. He dragged his knuckles along the line of Elrond's spine, delighting in the gasping groan that escaped the peredhel's lips...

No!

The unsated ache burned him like fire-tortured coals, heat pooling low in his abdomen. He shifted uncomfortably. The hard stone of the wall scraped against his hips through the thin fabric of his robe. A startled groan escaped his lips and he flinched away in shocked discomfort at the unfamiliar sensation. The touch was half pleasant, half painful.

Elrond's hand closed around his aching shaft with fingers strong and dextrous. Heat surged up inside him, only to roller-coaster through him in a downward spiral. He clenched his muscles, feeling his nipples stir into taut peaks that begged for caress. Kisses trailed down his jaw, ghosting against the thin-skinned point of an ear and a shiver danced along his spine. A soft, exploring mouth lipped at his nipples and he arched his back, lacing his fingers through Elrond's hair.

No. No, this was wrong. He could not think of Elrond that way.

Hands slid down his thighs, nails lightly scratching over tense, quivering muscles, parting his legs. His own hands were in Elrond's hair, guiding him down lower still. Elrond's familiar weight settled between his legs and hot kisses marked a southward trail. Heat engulfed him, root to tip, Elrond's skilled tongue making him cry out and throw his head back in wanton abandon, clutching at Elrond's long, mahogany locks...

A tap on the door made him start guiltily.

"Ereinion?" It was Elrond's voice, slightly muffled. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" He almost shouted - horrified at the thought that Elrond might enter. "Fine," he repeated, his voice slightly strangled as, dropping his hand away from the wall, he involuntarily nudged his own flank, causing the sensitive flesh to twitch.

"Fine," he whispered, choking on a sob of self-disgust and frustration.

He leaned against the wall again, nearly crying out at the grinding discomfort of crushing his aching groin into the stone. Why did this have to happen? He bit his lip hard, refusing to give way to tears.

Celebrian and Cirdan had been rolling their eyes lately as many of the younger elves around his age had been gradually becoming aware of their bodies, their sexuality. Had Ereinion spent time with Ardís, or even Oropher, he would have noted that they were beginning to experiment in the ways of those older than they. It was common amongst those in the midyears of youth, twenty-five to thirty summers old, that sexuality was discovered. Eyes that had looked with innocence on the sculpting of others' flesh began to see it anew. Fingers could touch, evoking new sensations. Pleasure created for oneself was discovered in these months, and, though never so early consummated, love-bonds began to form. Gailel and Gildor, Ereinion's companions, though only in their first lives, had already requested permission to be bound when they came of age. But Ereinion had shut himself away from these developments; caught up in the past he had failed to notice the passing of time in the present.

Why did Celebrian have to say what she said - I would never have thought about this otherwise, Ereinion raged internally. Frustrated and angry he closed his fist around his traitorous need and released himself with a few short, sharp pulls. He gasped as wetness flooded into his hand - and hot tears forced their way down his cheeks. He leaned his face against the wall again, ignoring the rough grate of stone upon his still sensitive flesh. He braced his forearm against the wall by his head, swallowing down his sobs. But he was powerless to stop the silent fall of the tears.

"Oh Air and Fire," he cursed in a whisper. "Oh Air and Valar-forsaken Fire!"

He fell silent abruptly, lifting his head from the cool stone and frowning. He had never, he realised, heard that particular curse before. A lot of the elves swore by the elements or natural substances. "Root and Branch," was Celebrian's; "Moon and Stars" was Glorfindel's, and even Cirdan said: "High Sea at Midnight!" when exasperated. Ereinion grew cold all over as he registered the origin of the curse he had spoken. Last night he, or rather, Gil-galad, had used it in the dream.

Quite suddenly he recollected something else: Elrond's jest in his dream had been unmistakably sexual. He raised his tentative hand to touch his lips, feeling the memory of the kiss he had bestowed upon Elrond surface with a tingle.

What if Elrond had been more than a friend in his last life? He still did not know how he was connected to the Rivendell lord, despite the realisation of the catalyst for their meeting. What if Elrond had been then...? No, he challenged himself. No. Elrond is married... But again the doubt surfaced. He was certain that Elrond had not been married when he had known him before. It had been the inexplicable reason behind his surprise at the bond between Celebrian and Elrond. Was it conceivable that they had been lovers then - he and Elrond?

"Surely, surely he would have said something," Ereinion whispered aloud.

Not if he is married now, the counter-thought protested.

He thought of Elrond's strange caginess on the subject, before unnoticed in his own confusion. And the peculiar familiarity of the imagined touches that had brought him to tears of despair - and release - moments before. Ereinion fetched a cloth from the sink to wipe himself clean, brushing away his tears with the back of his hand. He rinsed the rag in the sink and then splashed his face with cold water to cleanse away the stains of his tears. For a few moments he leaned against the sink edge, looking at the door to the bedchamber and contemplating asking Elrond straight out about their relationship before. He sighed, shaking his head as he realised Elrond would not tell him.

"You have to find out for yourself, Ereinion," he mimicked in mime and sighed again.

"Fine," he said aloud, his voice soft but determined. "Fine. I will find out then, Elrond."

Straightening his robe he left the bathroom.

When he opened the door, the bedroom was empty.

Concerns of the Guardians

Elrond thought it wise to absent himself from Ereinion's company and, when the bathroom door did not open after many long moments, he dressed swiftly and exited the bedchamber. He did not like leaving the younger elf alone. He had caught the expression in Ereinion's eyes and with a jolt, realised that Ereinion had already reached the age half-way to his majority. It was small wonder that he was beginning to look upon his companions with new eyes. It was not so strange, Elrond thought, for the glimmering hope could not be quashed, that Ereinion was looking at *Elrond* with new eyes. For a moment he came to a halt in the corridor. If he has remembered...

Elrond deliberated for a moment and then shook his head, continuing to walk. He did not think that Ereinion had, though he knew not how the younger elf would have reacted if he had. Elrond paused again, glancing back the way he had come. Was it so unthinkable that Ereinion would slam out of the room and put distance between them - after all, had not Elrond that night confessed to being married? Elrond hesitated. He did not think it was likely that the Valar would allow such a recollection so soon. But, as Elrond himself had forgotten, Ereinion was at the time of being able to choose his future spouse. Caught motionless in contemplation he was captured then by Cirdan, emerging with Celebrían from a nearby chamber. Espying Elrond stock-still in the corridor, Círdan's expression was one of relief.

"Ah, Elrond, good. I was hoping to see you today."

His decision made for him, Elrond turned to the elder elf, trying to put aside his concerns.

"Then I am at your disposal. What did you wish to see me about?"

Elrond was briefly aware that he sounded rather abrupt. Still torn between returning to the youngster and simply leaving Ereinion to calm himself, as the brisk walk from the chambers had served to placate the rising desire that had stirred in his own loins, Elrond was distracted and sounded so.

"Ereinion," Cirdan replied.

His attention abruptly pulled back to his companions, Elrond arched an inquisitive eyebrow to the skies. Cirdan opened the door into the chamber he had just emerged from and, with a sense of trepidation nestling in his breast, Elrond entered.

Gandalf was seated at Círdan's desk, pouring over a set of papers. He raised a steaming mug of tea in welcome as Elrond warily took a seat.

"Do you want me to leave you for a time, Cirdan?" the Istari asked, noting the serious set to the shipwright's countenance.

"Nay, nay," Cirdan shook his head. "It is not a matter of...well, I am sure your presence here will not affect the speaking of these words."

Gandalf nodded, lifting his papers and mug and migrating to another chair in courteous vacation of Círdan's favoured desk. The shipwright moved to sit at his chair, and then instead walked past it, pacing a few strides. He finally settled himself upon the front edge of the desk, facing Elrond. Celebrían perched beside him, so contentedly in the place that it seemed as though she had ever belonged there. Elrond ruefully recalled his words to Ereinion the previous night. The marriage between himself and Celebrían was truly of a peculiar nature. Elrond wondered if it could be called such still. He concluded that it could, for their children, though grown and gone, would ever be a part of their alliance. Yet the contract between them no longer united the strongholds of Lothlórien and Imladris, for those places would gradually fade out of existence. And there was little in the way of love left to bind them...

A political marriage, but still a marriage to be sure, Elrond decided. He smiled then; reflecting that none bound for love would ever be so pleased within and without to see his wife finding love in the company of another, not that such travesties would ever occur. Nor, he added chastening himself, would a husband so bound be seeking love elsewhere - and certainly not with a child.

"Well, Cirdan?" Elrond prompted, for the shipwright had been silent long enough that his scrutiny was doing ill for Elrond's sense of well being.

"Elrond," Cirdan spoke tentatively. "I hear that Ereinion slept with you last night. I mean, slept in your chambers," he quickly corrected. Still his words were an uncanny echo of those whispered years before in Elrond's ear at a great feast, coloured then with delight, the shipwright having been told by a jubilant and rather exuberant Ereinion in private beforehand.

"Yes," Elrond replied, relieved that his cheeks did not burn as they had then, which had prompted a nearby elf to enquire if the wine was going to his head. "He was not sleeping, Cirdan - he came to me in a state of great distress and it took me several hours to calm him enough for him to get to sleep at all. I could appreciate that he would be unwilling to sleep alone. Besides, at this time of physical development in his life, rest is imperative for the overall state of health. I did not think that it would do him any harm to stay in my chambers if it meant he was able to rest properly."

"No, no, quite," Cirdan agreed, his voice sounding vague as it often did when he was musing upon how to communicate a particular point. "I am glad you are concerned about his health, Elrond. I am just inclined to think that perhaps you are spending too much time with him. If you were but to meet with him each day for a few hours, or when he needs you there, it might be better for you both."

"This is not a healing process, Cirdan," Elrond explained patiently. "I cannot treat Ereinion as though he is sick and I am simply administering treatment. There is nothing wrong with him, physically or mentally, and it has never been a practice of mine to keep formal distance from those in my care, regardless of their state. Someone requiring healing, of the body or of the heart, is no less a being in their own right than they ever were. I do not like the idea that they should be kept segregated and merely seen when their condition requires it. With any patient in my care I would spend time with them, converse and even work with them, depending upon what their condition warrants. Sometimes a great part of healing is merely the need to talk."

He glanced briefly at Celebrían; though her expression did not alter, a flicker in her eyes told him that she too remembered her refusal to speak about her experiences. It was that in part that had distanced them forever in their affections, a wall of silence between their hearts, built to protect - and eventually divide.

Cirdan nodded slowly, but his brow was still lined with tension.
"I understand."

"Do you, Cirdan?" Gandalf asked, his tone severe.

"Yes," Cirdan lifted his head and then sighed, meeting Elrond's eyes. "I apologise. I did not mean to interfere... I... Forgive me, my friend. Let me be blunt: I am concerned about you spending so much time with Ereinion given your previous involvement with him."

Startled, Elrond drew himself up. Shock coursed through his veins and the insult burned, its fire more powerful for the internal struggle that the resistance of that very thing was already costing him.
"Cirdan, I assure you that I have no intention of trying to form such a partnership with a child of Ereinion's age!"

Cirdan flinched at the annoyance colouring Elrond's tone.
"I did not mean to imply that you would. I am just concerned that he will remember it should you spend too much time in his company. This is why I am warning him away from you."

"And what if he does remember it?" Elrond asked, his voice hard with barely contained anger. Cirdan had faithfully support the former union between Ereinion and Elrond, both its concealment and its acknowledgement in public had been borne with the shipwright's unstinting support. The retraction of that was like the removal of a stabilising wall - as if withdrawing it from the present somehow caused the past to sway and tumble. "Is it not a part of his former life, or do you believe I should conceal that from him as well?"

"I think simply that he is far too young to remember such an alliance," Cirdan replied adamantly.

"He is at the age when many of his contemporaries are choosing their future partners," Elrond countered.

"Precisely," Cirdan murmured.

Elrond stiffened. "So. You would not wish him to become involved with me once more, even if it was his choice?"

"Elrond, I do not mean to insinuate that I would not happily view an alliance between you two if it was formed once more. I know not when Ereinion was happiest than those years he spent with you, no matter how hard the times. I am just concerned that he should be able to start anew if he wishes it so."

"I would not prevent him," Elrond replied quietly, the statement cutting to the core of his soul, hurting more for every word was meant.

"Then it would be easiest, would it not, if there was enough distance between you that he is given complete freedom of choice? At present he is falling into a relationship with you that is so comfortable that it would be a natural progression even without his memories." Cirdan persisted.

"I am not made of marble, Cirdan!" Elrond spread his hands in despair. "I cannot work back through the history we shared without any emotional involvement at all. Frankly I have had enough work to do undoing the damage we did in trying to shelter him from too much and treating it so coldly. It took the fact that I cared to convince him that the entire process of recollection is worth the effort. Nor can being so detached serve any purpose; he would learn of the past merely as a history lesson and it would never come to mean anything to him. Emotional involvement in whatever form, fear, happiness, love, hate, is an equally important process. Would you have him remember his times in the Havens as but facts? Without ever caring about you, feeling happiness at the times you shared teaching him to sail, or sadness crying over his father's death, or fighting with Ardís? What sort of memory is that?"

"I see your points," Cirdan replied carefully. "But I fear that the emotional link between you will become so strong that he not be able see past it. I am worried that he will become emotionally dependent upon you."

"The latter is a very real concern," Celebrían interjected. She sat behind Cirdan, perched upon the desk edge, her hand upon his shoulder.

Elrond faced the couple with an inward sigh.
"I am not sure Ereinion is capable of being emotionally dependent upon anyone. He has always been very careful to be sure of who and what he is."

"He used to be," Cirdan countered. "And even then you have to admit that his emotional attachment to you was beyond his sense of self. The pair of you were a soul-bound partnership and it was miraculous to me that you survived his death, let alone recovered so well as you have done."

"Ereinion would have survived mine," Elrond answered, faltering uncertainly even as he spoke.

Cirdan shook his head slowly, doubtfully. "Perhaps. He found sanctuary in you, when no one else could touch, nor anything else could comfort him. As I know you did in him. But he had had a length of lifetime to develop his self-certainty and self-worth before ever you were born. And you were not a child when you met him. He is vulnerable now, he does not, cannot know who he is and to grow so close to you, shutting everyone else out, is not good for him."

"I think he is a great deal stronger than you give him credit for," Elrond replied steadily.

"Personally I am inclined to agree," Gandalf rumbled supportively. "That child is not simply a child; he will recover more of his sense of self as his memories return to him. If he does develop an emotional dependence on Elrond this early, it will weaken as he learns more of himself. And it would seem that the only safe way he will do that is through Elrond."

Cirdan sighed again. His silver hair spilled forward across his face, pale against his weather-browned skin. His features creased into lines of concern like the ancient crags of a cliff, slowly eroded by the passing of ages, the impressions of time. Elrond closed his eyes, feeling the tension running through his own brow, grooving it with marks of his own concern.

"In the end the choice must be yours, Cirdan, Celebrían," Elrond said very quietly. "You are Ereinion's guardians."

"And if I insist that you keep your distance in your ministrations?" Cirdan asked, his resigned tone suggesting that he knew the answer.

"Then I cannot continue," Elrond confirmed. "My duty here is to Ereinion. I cannot help him properly, safely, without being certain of his emotional state. And quite simply I am not strong enough myself to maintain such an awkward connection. If you wish to forbid me, I will try to explain to him why I have to leave."

"You would leave this house?" Cirdan said, sounding surprised.

"I will have to eventually anyway, and besides, I could not stay," Elrond replied. "Do you truly think your refusal would keep Ereinion from me if he wished to see me?"

"No," Cirdan sighed in defeat.

"I do not think that we need to resort to ultimatums," Celebrían said, rising to her feet. She crossed to Elrond and sat on the edge of a low table beside him, her back to the wide arched window.

"It is not an ultimatum," Elrond said. "We are just trying to establish our positions."

"Call it what you will," Celebrían dismissively answered. "Elrond, I do not want you to leave Ereinion, neither of us do." She reached out her hand to Cirdan who moved to sit in the adjacent chair, clasping her fingers with his. "The most important thing in this is that Ereinion recovers himself properly and safely. We must not lose sight of that. Gandalf is right in speaking that so."

"Then I do not know what you want me to do," Elrond replied wearily. "I cannot work miracles, Celebrían."

"I know," she said gently, touching his arm and squeezing sympathetically.

"Just be careful," Cirdan concluded with tiredness equal to Elrond's. "If you mean what you say, that you will in no way hinder him should he wish to find another mate, then your care is all we can ask for in the light of this discussion."

"It is his life, Cirdan, not mine to command," Elrond answered firmly.

"Nor mine," Cirdan resignedly admitted. "Very well, Elrond. Thank you, my friend, for taking the time to explain this to us."

Elrond nodded. "I am grateful to you for hearing me."

"Just be careful," Celebrían reiterated. She flashed him a smile then. "For one thing, should Ereinion decide that he does love you, it is still nearly twenty years to his majority!"

Warm laughter rippled around the room as Cirdan and Elrond exchanged glances, knowing exactly what that would mean, given Ereinion's impatience in other matters. Twenty years would seem more than endless.

Propositions

Elrond had hoped for the chance to seek Ereinion once more, when the conversation laughingly concluded, but it seemed that Círdan had other matters in mind. It was then that the topic turned to one Elrond knew little about, that of the Council of Valinor. It was thousands of years old and formed when the elves first began to return to the shores of the West. A carefully selected company of fifteen elves who ruled the various divisions and sub-divisions of land upon the shores had been amassed to take up lordships. They congregated frequently to negotiate upon matters of importance and to share the leadership of the peoples of Aman. Círdan was among their number, for he ruled the lower shores of Valinor, from the Welcoming House in which Elrond was currently resident, to the beaches and ports along the coast.

Galadriel was another recently to be counted among the members of the Council. In the more recent years that the Ring-bearers had been in Valinor, she had travelled far and wide, visiting her father, Finarfin, and making hers his acquaintances. Though she remained at present within the Welcoming House, she would, when Celeborn travelled West to join her, take up residence within one of the woodland areas and become once more a lady of the wood. It was Finarfin who had organised her place upon the Council, without his intervention she would likely not have been granted one until the establishment of her own realm.

Elrond knew why she had not yet retired to her own domain - for reasons similar to his own. Quite simply the bearing of Vilya had drained Elrond, as Nenya had Galadriel, of all the strength they possessed. Even if Ereinion had not been present, Elrond would not yet have been ready to depart from Cirdan's household. The shipwright's home held its doors wide to any who came to the West, providing a sanctuary for recovery and reflection, so that the newcomers might adjust to life in Valinor. It was common that those partaking of the hospitality would offer some small service in return. Elrond and Glorfindel continued to train the younger elves in battle strategies, assuaging their own need for occupation, preparing the defence of Valinor - which few were yet ready to drop - while beginning to find hope that there would never be need for the strategies they taught.

The Welcome House was a blessed relief, for it offered the opportunity to slowly rebuild drained resources and adjust to the absence of the constant pressure of the Rings. In time Elrond thought that he would wish to leave and create his own domain once more. The time would come when he would desire the privacy of his own sanctuary, and it was nearly impossible, he believed, to shrug off the cloak of duty so comprehensively as to return to being a mere loremaster or healer. At present, though, he would be contented to be so.

When he possessed sufficient strength he would certainly spend more time in the Healer's collegiums, although he quite frequently visited there in the time he was not with Ereinion. It intrigued him to learn of the new developments in healing balms and potions that had been discovered - or perhaps rediscovered - with the variety of plants to be found upon the shores of Valinor. He offered advice, though he was careful not to involve himself too deeply in the healing processes, wary of channelling the elemental powers in a land foreign to him and in his current state. Of the healers of the collegiums there were precious few who held the power he had used to possess, and knew still lay latent within him. There was perhaps one or two among their number, yet others were being trained constantly, for it was a popular task and one much needed upon the shores. The West was a land of recovery, healing, and the service was well, yet increasingly taxed, in its provision.

Cirdan still brought the last of the lingering elves to the shores, though most had left the lands of Middle-earth long, long before the second war of the Ring. With the strength of Vilya, Nenya and Narya lost to the land the passage of time flowed relentlessly, no longer held back by the powers of the Rings. The elves who came now did not suffer from the same ailments that had driven so many of their kind from the lands that had become their home before. Those had been elves of like state to Celebrían, injured, traumatized, their souls half cut adrift by the experiences they had undergone or the horrors they had witnessed.

"Some of those poor creatures had walked half way to the Halls; for some it still remains to be seen whether they can return," Aranel, the head of the collegiums, had grimly informed Elrond when he had first arrived.

Elrond himself had been so physically, psychically, and mentally drained by the sapping of Vilya's power he had spent some months in the Halls of Healing himself, alongside Galadriel. She too had sought relief from the aftershocks of wielding and then losing so much intense, elemental power.

The elves who arrived were exhausted, in a similar fashion to the Ring-bearers. The great weight of their years had fallen heavily upon their heads and Aranel remarked that it meant the time of the elves drew ever closer to a close. These were the early signs of fading.

"One day the mists will close," Galadriel had explained. "There will be no more passage in, or out. The elves will be gone from Middle-earth as if they had never been, save what few traces, likely unbeknownst to any, save a precious few who have the eyes and heart to see them."

Elrond knew of the closing of the mists. They all concernedly awaited the day that reports came that it had finally happened, for some yet had loved ones beyond the sea. Elrond tried not to think of his own children, for they perhaps would not even live to see the closing of the mists. Time moved differently in Valinor; when it seemed that but a five-year had passed away, beyond the mists it could have been fifty. There was no accurate regulation of the differences in the timescales within the turning of Arda. Certainly the elves who came in these months were physically weakened, the fire of their spirits fainter, the healing process a long-drawn out one requiring much individual time dedicated to each patient.

And then there were the re-born spirits. Elrond had thought that few ever returned to life, for save Glorfindel he had known of none in all his years in Middle-earth. It was not so. There were some, like Ecthelion, who had returned yet chosen to stay in the Blessed Lands thereafter. Some were children yet, like Ereinion, like Oropher, some older, though not of the ages of Glorfindel and Ecthelion. Some had chosen to return to the Halls again.

But of those who had not, several sat upon the Valinor Council. Ecthelion was among them, for he owned a small realm below the mountains, in close proximity to Idril and Tuor's lands. Glorfindel was considering the offer to join with Ecthelion, though loyalty to Elrond meant that he would likely decline. Elrond wondered vaguely if he should suggest to Glorfindel that he go ahead, for he was not yet ready to create his own domain. Glorfindel was welcome to remain with him, though, and ever would be. Elrond would leave the choice to Glorfindel.

The Council consisted of Ecthelion, Cirdan, Idril and Tuor as a partnership and a number of other elves with whom Elrond was not acquainted. Gandalf and Frodo had honorary places, though they did not presume to dictate the matters of elvin government. Cirdan explained that there would be a banquet hosted in a few months' time to which all the council members had been invited to attend. Elrond's presence was requested.

"The meal is to consist of the customary four courses, with wine and musicians," Celebrian said, her features alight. "I believe there will be dancing to begin the evening, and the lightest tunes are chosen to enhance the pleasant mood. The content of the meals we are agreed upon, I think," she smiled quickly at Cirdan. "To begin, of course, we must taste the delicacies of the sea, for they are testament to this realm..." She leaned forward in her chair, her hands forming animated gestures as she described the sequence of events that were to take place. Elrond smiled to himself as she spoke, recalling her adoration for such gatherings during her life in Rivendell.

"You are to attend, I would presume?" Elrond enquired, allowing his smile to show.

Celebrian faltered abruptly. She drew back, hugging her arms about herself as though suddenly cold.
"I...I do not know," she replied, her voice sounding distant and uncertain. "No, I think, I rather hope... I do not think I would like to..."

Elrond winced inwardly at his unguarded comment, though to hear her speak he realised his mistake had been unwitting. Celebrian's fascination with the careful compilation of events to ensure the most pleasant evening and to capture the mood perfect to contribute to the process of social bonding had not dimmed. It was her willingness to take part beyond the planning stages that had been shattered. She shunned crowds as she shied from isolation, loath to be alone or in great company.

Cirdan took her hands in his. "I would gladly have you by my side," he said gently. "But should you choose to remain apart, the children, I think, would be most glad of the overseeing - and the company, when the talk turns to business and the tastes to wine."
Celebrian nodded vaguely, her eyes staring off into the distance.

"Will you attend, Elrond?" Cirdan asked, stroking his beloved's limp fingers while she gazed beyond where their eyes could follow.

"I will indeed. I thank you for the invitation," Elrond confirmed. "Yet I rather wonder what moves you to summon me to such a banquet."

"Elrond, come now," Gandalf broke in, laying aside his map and taking a swig from his mug. He grimaced, for the liquid had cooled as the conversations moved and swiftly set the cup aside. "Would it not be well if you were to acquaint yourself with those who govern these lands?"

"Obviously," Elrond dryly observed.

"Well, what comes of it we shall no doubt see," Gandalf replied, reaching for and taking another sip from his cup. He pulled a disgusted face a second time and then sighed, realising why he had set it aside.

Elrond frowned. "I begin to sympathise with Ereinion," he said, his tone growing severe. "You conceal much from me, my friends. Will you not speak the truth in full?"

"My apologies," Gandalf chuckled. "You are as ever astute and it hardly seem fair that I counsel for explanations in the case of your young charge, while proceeding to secret some matters from yourself."

Elrond arched an enquiring eyebrow. Gandalf nodded to Cirdan and the shipwright smiled a little ruefully.

"I think I see what made you so formidable a herald and so close a friend to the High King," Celebrian said with a sudden chuckle, her impassive features warming again as she rejoined the conversation. "You are as perceptive as he and easily as stubborn."

"Stubborn?" Elrond teasingly enquired. "I believe the word was 'persistent.'"

Celebrian's laugh lilted from her lips. "You would have me lie, lest I offend *your* 'delicate sensibilities?'" she lightly reposted, quoting his own words back to him.

Elrond chuckled. "You may stretch the truth into a more pleasant form, yes," he answered amusedly. "But come, I will not be dissuaded from hearing this."

Cirdan nodded. "We hide but nebulous contemplations, Elrond, of that I assure you. We considered that you might wish to meet with the Council quite simply for your own interest and peace of mind."

"Or lack thereof," Celebrian interjected with a smile.

Cirdan pressed a finger lightly to her lips and smiled, shaking his head.
"That aside, however, we hoped that such an introduction might inspire you to consider taking a place upon the Council, for we have not the full quotient of members and your sage guidance has long been well received by our peoples."

Elrond was silent for a few moments. "I am honoured," he managed to say for the sake of politeness, but spoke no further.

Inwardly he sighed. He was tired; even now he was tired. He had made no motion toward setting up his own realm for as yet he had neither the strength nor inclination to govern it. The thought had occurred to him simply never to do so, and perhaps take a place within the healing collegiums, though admittedly he had given that little consideration. He ruefully reflected that he had not devoted much time to contemplating how he was to spend his existence upon the shores of Valinor. He had thought of little save Ereinion.

"I feared this would be your reaction," Cirdan said gently, startling Elrond from his immersion. "This was why I held my tongue before. Elrond, this is merely a suggestion. You are welcome here as long as you wish, be it a few months or even forever. The latter invitation cannot be extended to all, for the house would be overrun, but to a friend as dear as you I make exception. Glorfindel too is of course included in that. Aranel has already asked if you would consider a place in the Healing Halls, for he would welcome your aid and experience. We offer the place on the Council as another option to you, that is all, for you may wish in time to form your own domain and I would not be in the least offended if you wished to do so. I place no obligation upon you, my friend. The banquet is a chance for us to gather, as we have need of doing so upon a regular basis, and if you would attend you will be able to meet those who sit upon the Council, and they you."

Elrond drew himself up and nodded. "Then I thank you, I shall. I apologise for my reluctance, Cirdan, I intended no offence by it. I have not thought much upon the future of late; my attention has rather been rooted in the past."

"With valid reason," Cirdan soothed. "Nay, Elrond, your reaction was justified. You have been here less than a decade. Ereinion was twenty when you arrived the first day, and but a few months from twenty-one when you first met him. He is barely thirty now and so by my calculations you have been here for nine years. There is certainly no need for you to have made any decisions yet. In fifty I might ask you, but certainly not until then."

Elrond smiled, rising to clasp Cirdan's arm in a warrior's grip, a gesture that remained, though their battle days were tentatively finished.

"Thank you," he repeated.

Restless

Elrond kept his distance from Ereinion for the remainder of that day, spending time instead in the Healing Halls, idly speaking with Aranel about the potential of taking up a position within the Halls. It was more than apparent that the younger healer was enthusiastic about the prospect, yet Elrond firmly remained neutral about the possibility. Later still he spoke with Glorfindel, who was riding out to meet Ecthelion's party, for the elf-lord was to be a part of the proposed banquet and Glorfindel desired a chance to speak with his old friend once more. Elrond soberly conveyed his understanding should Glorfindel wish to accept the offer of lordship Ecthelion had spoken of to him. The Elda had nodded his thanks but replied only that he would consider it. Slightly lighter in his heart, for he had no wish to lose the companionship of Glorfindel, Elrond realised that darkness was drawing in and there was still no sign of Ereinion.

Ereinion was sat upon the hidden cliff ledge, knees drawn up to his chin, gazing out across the sea. It had been a long while since Elrond had found him in that place. Ereinion had long ago outgrown it. The maturing of his years and the comprehension of the half-memories that had plagued him meant that he had ceased to seek places to hide. Elrond paused at the edge of the lip, wary of his reception, for they had parted in uncomfortable haste that morning. Ereinion turned instantly to look at him, his expression guarded.

"Have you been here all day? I did not expect to find you here," Elrond said quietly, beginning to pull himself up. "I thought it would be beneath your dignity."

"And you look so very dignified climbing a cliff yourself," Ereinion retorted. "At least I can blame my youth."

"Then I may claim senility to be sure," Elrond replied with a chuckle. He hoisted himself over the cliff edge and scrambled to his knees, sitting back on his heels.

Ereinion's features relaxed into a smile. "Small hope of that," he answered.

The tension between them lingered still. Neither wished to speak of the events of the morning, yet it hung between them, all the heavier for not being mentioned.

"It may come - and to you too," Elrond said, trying to teasingly broach the subject. "You are growing up, after all."

Ereinion's expression did not perceptibly change, but his shoulders stiffened and he sat very still. His reply was distant and non-committal.
"Yes."

Elrond paused, seeking words to communicate with his unresponsive audience. He knew he had not imagined Ereinion's expression that morning, the look of awakening desire that had burned indigo in the younger elf's eyes; the way his gaze had trailed over Elrond's torso - the way he had hastened from the room with crimson fired cheeks, and refused to return. The burning need that had risen in Elrond had driven him from the room. Should he have stayed then, feigning to be unaffected, and soothing Ereinion's shaken composure with fatherly words? Elrond doubted his ability to conceal his emotions to such an extent. Though he was practiced in the art of wearing a mask of composure upon his features, regardless of the provocation, this was a challenge he knew not if he could face. His will was his opponent instead of strongest ally in this, for he was aware of his selfish desire to regain Ereinion's affections - his love. And that could never be if he concealed his heart. If he even could, for Ereinion was proving adept at reading him, and frequently saw through the facades that had always stood Elrond in good stead, saving him many revelations of his soul to those he would rather leave unaware.

He grimly, mercilessly, crushed his own selfish desires. The measure of years Ereinion bore now brought new changes, new feelings, none that Elrond had feared to explain to his own children. Had discussion of such matters been so difficult with his own children? He did not remember it as being so. But then again, discussing as it were the birds and the bees, Elrond distinctly recalled having the support of Celebrian. And the twins had learned much from the warriors resident in Imladris, despite Elrond's disapproval. Elrond briefly debated enlisting Celebrian's assistance again, but mentally baulked at the prospect of his wife explaining such matters to Elrond's former lover.

And what to say? Ereinion needed to understand that the sexual reaction to others of his kind was natural at this time - without getting entangled in the complex relations from past times that underscored his friendship with Elrond. And Elrond did not want to try to explain why he had come so close to reacting to Ereinion.

"Are you well?" he said at last, somewhat tentatively, merely to ascertain whether Ereinion would even answer him. The expression the younger elf wore was forebodingly unreceptive.

A swift glance passed over Elrond's face and Ereinion managed a slightly twisted smile.
"I am fine. I just..." Ereinion looked down at his knees. "Elrond, I apologise for last night. "

Elrond stared at him, suppressing a sigh at the perceptive evasion. Ereinion lifted a frowning countenance to him, his expression troubled.

"Ereinion, do not be ridiculous," Elrond said gently, allowing himself to be distracted from the pressing but difficult topic of maturing. "Nightmares trouble us all and there is no need to suffer them in silence. I am afraid also that your particular case means that yours will often be memories, which are potentially disturbing. A few broken nights sleep will not harm me half as much as keeping silent could do you."

"Thank you for that comfort," Ereinion said dryly, a wry smile flickering on his lips.

Elrond smiled too, and reached out impulsively to take the youngster's hand. The instant he did so he regretted it, for the action had been thoughtless, given the memories of new emotions that still simmered within them. But Ereinion took it and folded it into both of his, gripping tightly. The perceptible tension in his whole body seemed to ebb away and he drew Elrond's hand to his cheek, leaning his face against the knuckles. Soft surprise flitted in Elrond's heart, but he extended his fingers slightly, providing a rest for Ereinion's cheek.

"I am tired," Ereinion said, sighing slightly.

"I am not surprised," Elrond agreed, easing his fingers free and lightly running them over Ereinion's cheek. "Was this the first night you have slept badly?"

The younger elf shook his head. "No. I have been waking up a lot lately, but not remembering of what I dreamed. I have been resting in the conscious slumber instead, for it does not induce such strange visions."

"You should not do that," Elrond's voice grew stern with concern. "At your age..."

"I am sick and tired of being 'my age,'" Ereinion said suddenly, sharply. "If it is not one thing it is another, and clearly it would be quite enough of a trial if I did not have another life to remember." The colour that stained his cheeks as he spoke implied that he was speaking of the encounter that morning, and he had been trying to avoid it. "I cannot see why Glorfindel claims that second childhood is a balm - I think it would be easier to be already grown!"

Elrond winced inwardly, thinking of the harsher moments in reality that had burdened Ereinion's life and his own. Slowly, he shook his head.

"Oh Elrond, what priceless comforts you are giving me today," Ereinion's tone was laced with sarcasm. "First these dreams have the potential to hurt me, and now you tell me that while adolescence is a difficult state, maturity is not an improvement."

There was a measure of anger in his tone that troubled Elrond, but suddenly Ereinion's lips twisted into a wry smile and he shook his head, laughing softly.

"Ah well," he said and smiled more genuinely. "Of all the troubles to be found in Arda, I would rather be here than not."

The words worked once more the curious effect of making him sound older than his years. Elrond regarded him out of the corner of one eye.
"I am glad," he said softly.

Ereinion smiled, leaning back against the wall of the cliff. Elrond shifted to sit next to him. Ereinion leaned his head tentatively against Elrond's shoulder, and automatically the elder elf lifted his hand to stroke the fall of dark hair.

"You really should get some more rest," Elrond said after a few moments. His cheek was pressed against Ereinion's head; the soft strands of hair a satiny cushion to his jaw. The dark tendrils stirred a little as his breath gusted over them. Ereinion made a non-committal sound in his throat, and for a time it was silent again.

"Would you, if you saw death and war in your dreams, an unnamed fear in your heart - half-knowing what would come, yet unknowing?" Abruptly, Ereinion lifted his head and glanced at Elrond, his features losing their colour a little. He sat up, wrapping his arms around himself and scowling.

Elrond was still. Such tormenting dreams had ruptured his slumber for centuries after Gil-galad's death. But that he could not say.

Ereinion spoke on, his gaze fixed on the sea, and his chin upon his knees.
"Last night it was the kin-slayings, I think. Your story echoed so familiar then - the search for the Silmarils and the flight of Elwing. It did not make sense before, but now I remember it. I travelled the corridors of a house, garishly decorated in the blood of our people, searching for two children whose cries still hung in the air. Terror reverberated from every wall. Terror caused by my kinsmen. And no one living was there...

"I was looking for you. I think that is why I came to your chambers - I wanted to know that you were still here."

Troublingly enlightened as to the cause of the younger elf's distress the previous night, Elrond put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "I am," he murmured. "I am."

Ereinion nodded, settling back against the cliff when Elrond did not move his hand, relaxing beneath the comforting gesture.

Ereinion exhaled heavily. "So this is the price for remembering," he said softly. He shook his head and fell silent once more.

Elrond watched him for a moment, watched the play of emotions pass, barely readable, across the expressive countenance. Slowly he shifted his hand from Ereinion's shoulder and brushed his fingers through the dark cascade of hair that smoothly fell from Ereinion's crown. He almost hesitated, half expecting the youngster to pull away. But Ereinion had grown receptive to the gesture, and now he sighed quietly, letting his head fall forward so that Elrond could grip up a handful of hair and hold it, his fingertips gently squeezing the tense scalp beneath.

"Everything has its price," Elrond quietly observed, breaking the pensive silence.

"Aye, I cannot win, it would seem," Ereinion remarked. "If I do not remember, I am haunted, incomplete and frustrated - and if I do, I am sleepless." He lifted his eyes to the skies in a rueful roll and shook his head.

"I may be able to concoct a sleeping draught that would help you settle at nights, if you wish," Elrond said. "It will not prevent you dreaming, but it might make you tired enough to sleep."

Ereinion shook his head. "I am tired enough now. I can hardly keep my eyes open so much do I desire to sleep. But I dislike awakening abruptly from dreams I cannot fully comprehend. And..." he paused, his reluctance to speak as clear as his reluctance to rest. "I... Nothing."

Elrond tilted his head, eyeing Ereinion thoughtfully as vague memories of Glorfindel's nightmares stirred within him. He recalled long nights spent with the Eldar sprawled across his bed, his long limbs carelessly strewn over the sheets, his hair scattered like sunbeams upon the pillow, while Elrond sat and read, Celebrian slumbering alone in their marital chambers, or later, after Celebrian's sail to the West, Elrond slept alongside his seneschal, needing the company as desperately as Glorfindel.

"How did you sleep after our stories last night?" Elrond asked circumspectly.

"Better," Ereinion shrugged, and then glanced at Elrond, his expression curious. "Why do you ask?"

Elrond smiled.
"I just thought to let you know that you may wake me whenever you please. My door will always be open to you, whatever the hour."

Ereinion's countenance flooded with relief, and Elrond knew it was the fear of waking alone that he had held his tongue upon. In the Dark Halls, you are ever alone, Glorfindel had once explained. I remember so little of that time - such is its nature and its power of healing - but I know, when I wake alone, I feel that there is no one there. Nothingness is all encompassing and the darkness seems absolute. Not even the cool presence of Mandos infiltrates that emptiness. Eventually the room comes back to you, the nearness of others in the building - but the seconds until then are unbearable.

Elrond quietly blessed the Elda's ability to express the troubles he had suffered after his return from the grave, for Ereinion in contrast was remote. Cirdan encouraged his children to be open in their hearts, yet growing up alongside Oropher, the rivalry that even death had failed to dim, had forced Ereinion into the role of the hidden-hearted once more. A role he had played for all as high king, save Elrond and Cirdan. Fear was the primary emotion that unwritten rules insisted should not be shown. Fear was also the emotion where counsel and comfort were mostly greatly needed.

"Thank you," the younger elf said quietly.

The sea rolled lazily up the beach, licking at the sands and stirring loose tiny pebbles that skittered eagerly after the retreating backwash. Overhead the sobbing cry of the gulls echoed on the breeze as the birds banked in the slipstreams of air and soared once more. The sun was low over the sea, glowing brightly crimson and flanked by thick arms of cloud, the shadows spreading from beneath them. Elrond relaxed back against the cliff face, feeling the solid strength in the rock that had endured an eternity.

He fingered Vilya idly, stroking the sapphire stone inset into the ring; it was a strange blessing - and curse - that he had ever come to bear her. How much she had cost him, shackling him to duty, binding him to words spoken that he had never believed he would need to hold to, draining him of all his remaining strength until now she was spent, and he also. Yet without her Rivendell could not have survived, the time of the elves would have come sooner and Middle-earth perhaps fallen into a second darkness. He shook his head, twisting the ring on his finger. Vilya's golden band scraped against the thin circlet he had received from Celebrian.

"Gailel and Gildor are to be married, had you heard?" he remarked, looking at Ereinion.

"Yes - Gildor told me - and Cirdan..." Ereinion's sudden smirk cause Elrond's eyebrow to arch skyward in suspicious query. The younger elf snickered. "Cirdan took it as an opportunity to explain the, ah, 'birds and the bees,'" he amusedly quoted.

Relief saturated Elrond's veins, for Cirdan's taking of such a duty freed Elrond from the awkwardness of trying to raise it himself. There was something he found inherently uncomfortable about trying to discuss matters of physical intimacy with one with whom in a previous life they had been shared. The exact replication of Ereinion's physical form rendered him identical as outwardly as inwardly to the one Elrond had loved for so long. It, though soothing in many ways, had caused him to feel as though he would have been teaching his elders to suck the proverbial eggs. Last time, it had been Ereinion who had educated *him* - though Maglor of course had provided the theory in line with the duties of a guardian. Elrond repressed a shiver at the memory. Maglor had never, ever, touched him - it was simply against the nature of their kind - yet occasionally there had been a look in his eye that had made Elrond want to don a cape or concealing cloak atop his tunic and breeches.

"And that is amusing to you?" Elrond remarked somewhat resignedly, recalling the tiresome sniggers of his own twins.

Ereinion shook his head.
"Nooo," he said slowly. "Not in itself, but... I think it disturbed Cirdan to know that I remembered some of it."

Elrond's eyebrows shot up. "You did?"

Ereinion nodded. "I remember him speaking to me about it before - I think he even used some of the same phrases." Ereinion chuckled, shaking his head. "I... I think I remember my father telling me of it. He was a tall elf," he added vaguely. "Dark-haired and brusque. He told me that the way of our kind permitted us to take wife or husband, regardless of gender. It was my duty to marry a wife and have sons. Then he looked sorrowful and told me that love could be the death of me too, and that if I had sense in my head I would take a male lover because I could not then impregnate them and bring about their death through duty."

Fingon - were you right in that? I cannot feel it so. Elrond's thoughts were his own and he touched Vilya again, almost unconsciously. "Such sudden clarity of memory - is that all you remember of your father?"

Ereinion nodded. "I think it might have been the night before I was sent away to Cirdan's. He was sad, and I felt the same, which should not have been so if the conversation was merely that. You were right, by the way, my mother did die in childbed - Cirdan told me her name, Elenestë."

Elrond nodded. "The conversation with your father, how old were you then?"

Ereinion shook his head. "I know not, truly. I assume I was probably of similar years to those I have now. I do not remember if I heeded my father's advice though - or why it was my duty to procreate." He frowned briefly and then shrugged.

Elrond half anticipated a question, perhaps an expression of curiosity about a wife, or children left behind. But none came.

TBC...

Back to Valinor