On the Shores of Valinor 21: Uncertain Alliances.
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. * Marks The Fall of Gil-galad, by Tolkien.
Thanks to Nienna for beta-reading.

The great banquet hall was filled almost to capacity. Though there were but twelve current members of the Council of Valinor, travelling alone, even in such lands as these, was highly uncommon. Cirdan welcomed children to his home and, as the meeting was not of particularly formal nature, many of the Council members had chosen to bring their families to the social gathering. It also meant that for at least the duration of the meal, the youngsters of Cirdan's home were to be present. The vast hall was arrayed in great finery. The drapes had been beaten until their dusty folds shimmered in the candlelight, their colour a rich and dark sea green. The ivory candles were carved into white horses, suspended overhead in silvered chandeliers, eight-armed like octopuses. The wooden floor was polished, and upon it set three long tables end to end, with a fourth, lower, set to one side. This was to be the table for the younger elves. Ereinion's eyebrows had risen dangerously as he assisted Cirdan in drawing it up.

"It is not supposed to be an insult, Ereinion," Cirdan had sternly said. "Those of you over half way to your majority are to sit with the guests, but there are many other children younger than yourselves who are not yet tall enough for the high table. Besides, it is the only other we have in the house!"

This latter was undeniably true, for the trees only shed branches during the winter storms and the elves rarely asked for wood that was not disposed of. This meant that occasionally resources ran short and, being practical in nature, Cirdan simply used what was available to hand, which included banquet tables. Ardis had remarked with a smirk that the dingy she and Ereinion had built had been from the remains of a table. They had thoughtfully, Cirdan remarked with a humorous sigh, asked permission - after they had used the table.

The décor had taken but a few hours to set up, and with Celebrian content to organise the catering and musical arrangements, the entire construction had been prepared in a single day. Empty, the hall had been beautiful though simple: wooden tables and chairs, silver chandeliers, and the great ocean-coloured window drapes. The effect created the impression of an indoor ship and ocean. Filled now with elves, and with the musicians playing their lively tunes at the far end of the hall, the effect was far gaudier. Colourful butterflies of colour, the elves moved gracefully around one another, meeting and conversing. Cirdan, captain of the banquet, made introductions and handed around drinks of light cordial. Elvin wine was best consumed only with a meal, for its content was, if not high, sufficient to inebriate the unwary.

Celebrian was nowhere to be seen, Elrond sadly noted, feeling great sympathy for her. Galadriel was present, though her expression, when she clearly thought herself out of sightlines, was tainted by a wince. She had no love for great gatherings, for she found people's thoughts and emotions touched her mind too often.

Haldir walked beside her, his arm through hers, his posture stiff and his expression one of barely restrained disdain. He was ill at ease, Elrond noted, lofty in the knowledge of how to see beyond the insufferable arrogance the former guardian of Lorien exuded. He had come upon Haldir, just once, when the elf was off his guard. In search of Celeborn Elrond had passed through the private quarters of the Lord and Lady of Lorien, directed there by Galadriel, yet unescorted. He had found Haldir sat at the feet of Celeborn, his head resting upon the elf-lord's knee, Celeborn stroking the moonlight coloured curtain of hair. Haldir had been unmasked to Elrond in the moment, his fierce concern for his lord and lady evident in his visible exhaustion. All his haughtiness dissolved in that trusting embrace, Haldir had revealed himself to be simply desperately defensive of his people; concerned by his duties, he maintained an arrogant façade to make unwelcome all those who passed the borders of Lorien - to protect the inhabitants within, and himself. Stumbling across the snatched morsel of tranquillity, Elrond had quickly withdrawn.

But Haldir had seen him then, and now cast hunted eyes his way, ever wary that Elrond might reveal the precious nature beneath the cold mask. Elrond would ever hold his tongue. Haldir had been loath to leave Celeborn's side, fearing for his lord in the diminishing lands of Middle-earth, yet upon request he had travelled with Galadriel to keep her safe. Galadriel had spoken of it on the passage to the West. Haldir was not so relaxed in her company, often more at ease with Celeborn. She believed it to be because she could breach the guards Haldir erected with ease, and though she would not intrude in such a way, he feared that she might.

Elrond nodded to the former guardian, smiling at Galadriel as she turned and moved his way.
"Elrond," she greeted him, her cerulean eyes locking with his in that intense, too-intimate gaze her ability to scan the surface of the mind beneath induced. She turned her eyes to the room a moment later, without intruding and continued to speak. "So, you too have been requested to attend this council gathering."

"Yes, Cirdan suggested that it might be a matter of interest," Elrond replied lightly.

"Yes, dear Cirdan." Galadriel chuckled kindly in her throat. "Our beloved shipwright discreetly observes our reactions to this company we keep."

Elrond glanced at her. "Indeed he does. I think we would be wise to take similar measure of our acquaintances."

"I believe that they will be doing so of us," Galadriel agreed. She turned her gaze to Elrond suddenly, and the light that shone deeply in her eyes burned brightly. "Ereinion is present this night, is he not? Elrond, beware your step in the company of such strangers. There is a light that can be cast upon your friendship with him that I think you would not like."

Humiliation licked hot colours across Elrond's face, his shame burning all the more fiercely for he knew Galadriel was aware of the bright spark that was his continued desire for Ereinion, lasting from their former love and now enhanced by the creature he had become. For the first time in his long life, Elrond drew his eyes abruptly from her gaze, shaking his hair across his face.

I would not. Never, my lady...

I know. But others will not.

"What did you mean by that, exactly?" Ereinion's tones, chillier than the ice that laced the lakes in the winter days, cut through the mind-to-mind conversation.

Galadriel turned sharply to face the younger elf's glittering stare. Ereinion, garbed in robes of deepest sapphire velvet, their borders lined in silver and sky-hued ferns, stood tall before her. His height easily matched hers and the challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.

"I think that you know, kinsman mine," Galadriel gravely replied, holding his gaze in a long, lingering stare, which broke only as she moved past him and beyond his line of vision.

Ereinion stood very still. His lips set into thin lines. His gaze ticked to Elrond, a calculating expression passing within the indigo depths. Then he flicked his eyebrows and exhaled, shaking his head as if to shake away her presence in his mind. He rubbed his arms as though chilled and moved to Elrond's side.

"Are you all right?" Elrond asked, concerned that the younger elf would be discomforted by Galadriel's inferences.

Ereinion glanced at him and shrugged his shoulders.
"I wish she would not do that," he answered, referring plainly to her scrutiny. "But seeing as that is as likely as wishing that the stars would shine in daylight, I must forbear."

"I did not quite mean that," Elrond replied, pressing the issue, for it was of concern to him. Though he fought with his own desires at every turn, he was loath to believe that he might reflect his internal battle to the outside world. Nothing would have induced him to fall from that dangerous perch. It was the call of his soul's unity to Ereinion's that sang such sweet, siren music, not merely the physical cementation of that love.

The dance had woven them together once; their place was as complimentary partners in the music of fate. Ereinion was the fire to Elrond's water, the fortissimo to the sotto voce... Or he had been. Elrond remembered, his heart, his soul, remembered. Whether their fates were once more to so entwine, he did not know for certain. If they were not to, or even should that happy fortune be granted, he would not bear the insult of being seen to corrupt a child. The very thought was enough to silence the seductive call of the music.

"Oh." Ereinion turned to look at him properly. "If anyone could so misread you after these long years, they are not worth the time of day!" The admirable sentiments were expressed with an accompanying snort of disgust.

Elrond was silent; knowing that despite their discretion, the lack of acknowledgement their former relationship had had was through the sake of politeness alone. The elves were notoriously reticent in connubial affairs, whether the marriage was of legal contract or the natural binding of souls that required no such ceremony, though it was frequently graced with one. Those who knew of it would undoubtedly note the closeness between them once more. And Ereinion's age put him in his minority, whether or not his mind could be said to be so. It was not unreasonable that doubts might arise to the outsider's eyes as to whether this would be over-looked. Ereinion does not even remember, Elrond grimly thought. But who was to know of that?

"What I would ask is why should they think it?" Ereinion said, shifting to place a hand on Elrond's shoulder that he could speak with his lips close to Elrond's ear. "You wear the ring of Lady Celebrian, yet even her mother lifts brows at our friendship."

Elrond stiffened, swallowing a grimace. Ereinion was too perceptive for fabrications, and yet the truth... Elrond could not speak that.

"Certain rumours were circulated once before about the depth of our friendship," Elrond muttered back. "And our kind have memories longer than their braids."

Ereinion chuckled softly. "I note you neither confirm nor deny the truth or lack thereof in such rumours," he observed without reproach. He had grown accustomed to Elrond's circuitous ways of explaining what he could not reasonably do so, and no longer appeared to resent it. "But come, let us not give them reason to get their braids knotted up. I shall go to seek Ardis - and Oropher, if I must - if it will save you the unease."

Elrond turned to him and smiled. "Thank you. I think it is probably for the best."

Ereinion's gaze drifted over Elrond's countenance, making the elvin lord aware of the troubled grooves that lined his brow and the tension that lined his lips. The younger elf smiled, giving his head a puzzled little shake and then moved away, swiftly lost to the crowd.

Dutifully, Elrond turned his attentions to the gathering at large, skilfully negotiating the crowded hall with perilously balanced glasses and elbows to be accidentally nudged, staining gowns with effervescent cordials, at every step. Locating Cirdan amidst the assembly, Elrond suffered the introductions to the members of the Council of Valinor. Idril was present, her expression a painted mask. Her long, thick hair was loose and spilling around her shoulders, her hands clasped before her. Elrond noted, when she pushed back her hair, that she had wrist sheaths with silver daggers beneath the long sleeves of her gown. It did not surprise him, for the attack on Gondolin had come during the summer celebration of Tarnin Austa. She had reason to be wary of public gatherings. She greeted him as a kinsman, the fixed quality of her smile warming for the briefest of instants. Her eyes lingered on him with the intense scrutiny she continually passed around the room throughout the introductions, and the smile touched the grey depths of her eyes. Tuor wore his unease more palpably, his tension a contrast to his wife's cool, poised collection. His gaze fixed rather too hard upon one's face, though he too smiled warmly to greet Elrond.

"It is good to meet you at last," Idril said, surreptitiously drawing the cuff of her gown back over her leather wrist sheath. "Grandson mine. So many rumours here have reached us of the great Lord of Imladris. If even a half of them are true, we may be proud indeed of our lineage."

"Well, should later times permit it, we may speak of them," Elrond nodded. "Yet I shall not promise to confirm nor deny these tales."

Tuor's chuckle was uneasy, but Idril laughed heartily.

"Well, you may reserve that right," she conceded. "We may all keep our secrets. Should you wish it I may tell you a little of your father."

"I would be greatly indebted to you for that, my lady. I would value your words for I did not know him myself."

"So I had heard." Idril's gaze was sympathetic, despite the hard set to her mouth. Elrond eyed her curiously, wondering if she had disapproved of Earendil's travels. "Very well, later we shall speak at length."

"I hope you have many hours reserved for that." There was no mistaking the cheerful tease to belong to Glorfindel and Elrond turned to cast an amusedly disapproving eye upon his friend.

Idril and Tuor brightened once more, welcoming Glorfindel into their midst and smiling too at the elf he had alongside him. The warm dark eyes and the easy companionship evidently shared with Glorfindel, for their arms were comfortably linked and laughter still shone in their eyes from some former conversation, identified the stranger to Elrond instantly as Ecthelion. The verbal confirmation that came moments later was friendly, and Elrond warmed instantly to the elf. Tuor too seemed to relax around him, the almost haunted expression sinking beneath the surface of his eyes. Watching Ecthelion, Elrond could find almost nothing in his demeanour that told of the horrors of his past.

It was then that Cirdan ensnared a passing elf lord and introduced to Elrond the current leader of the Council. And, in almost the same moment, Galadriel and Haldir approached. Above the benign smile with which the elderly elf greeted Elrond, the silver hues to his eyes turned steely, the smile twisting at the corners.

"Welcome, Elrond Peredhel. And, ah, Galadriel...daughter of Finarfin..."

He could be none other than Teleri; his silver hair, the colour of mithril so sun-bleached was it, denoted him to be of that line. Evidently Elrond and his kin were far enough removed from the line of the kin-slayers to be worthy of his attention, but the weight placed upon the lineage of Galadriel all too clearly informed them of his ill disposition toward her. Galadriel met his supercilious stare with her own glacial gaze.

"Why do you not introduce yourself? I believe many have not the pleasure of knowing your name," she coolly informed him.

"I am Olwë, king of Alqualonde."

Elrond mentally winced, sensing Haldir stiffen beside him.

"He lost close family and most of his people to the Noldorin kin-slayers," Ecthelion softly said, as the imperious elf turned to Cirdan, the shipwright trying to subtly placate him. Elrond concealed a grimace at the confirmation of his suspicions.

"Yet a line cannot be judged by the actions of a foolish few." The melodic tones of another Teleri elf, though this one clearly lesser in years than Olwë, lilted to their ears. "Greetings, Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond. I am Gailwen."

It was then that the low song of a struck gong thrummed through the room, the musicians bringing their music to a close and the dancing that had whirled around the Council slowed to a halt. Elrond, glancing swiftly across the crowd as they moved to the banquet tables, registered to his pleasant surprise a breathless Celebrian, being escorted from the dance floor by Oropher. Ereinion and Ardis, arm in arm, walked in her wake.

Remembering

As such meals were wont to do, the banquet continued for many hours. Fey wine was liberally produced, until Elrond found himself covering his glass at intervals of barely three minutes, so studious were the attentions of the servants. Draining the last dregs from his glass he finally set it upside down upon his serviette, causing Idril to choke on her swig of wine. The male elf who had that instant poured her a new glassful almost dropped his bottle and Tuor nearly exploded from his seat, thinking poison - or perhaps due to the cold sprinkle of wine slopped down his neck by the paralysed attendant. Elrond hid his smile behind his napkin, not daring to meet Celebrian's eyes as she bit down upon the prongs of her fork to quell her own laughter.

Yet save these small moments of entertainment, the conversation was little more than the polite enquiries of strangers beginning to cautiously acquaint themselves with other strangers. Elrond found memories of the interminable feasts held in Lindon rose in his mind as the wine bouquet continued to permeate his nostrils until he felt mildly light-headed. He was not usually quite so susceptible to the alcohol, for he had drunk but a single glass. It was another reminder of his present fatigue lingering from Vilya's disempowerment. It was reminiscent of another time, long, long ago, set in the halls of Lindon...

Elrond sat in silent stupor, the conversations rippling around him sounding as though they were spoken in languages foreign to his ears. They could have been, for he had ceased listening some hours before. The ceremonial feasts had continued late into the night hours. The hard back of his chair pressed uncomfortably into his spine and his head felt curiously swollen, his mind turbid with a confounding mixture of trivial conversation, important names and intoxicatingly sweet wine. The intrigue of the foreign elves attending the court had now diminished. He had listened, and spoken too, asking many of his insatiable store of questions. Though polite he had been, Gil-galad had teasingly remarked that it was as well he had chosen life with the Eldar, for never could he have found satisfaction, nor even brief slaking of his desire for knowledge in the scant years granted to human lives. But as the levels of sobriety fell rapidly and the intricate history accounts digressed into light-hearted mockery, he allowed his exhaustion to swoop over him. It would be an hour, perhaps even more, before they could even think to retire to the gardens for a cooling walk in the night air so that the fresh, sea air might wash away the inebriation of the wine, filling the souls with pleasanter medicine of the Ainur's sweet song from the waves.

Gil-galad was laughing, his features animated by his amusement as he spoke with the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Though none of the three could be said to be truly drunk, only Galadriel had completely abstained from the wine. The slight glaze to Celeborn's eyes and the sluggish track of his vision after the turns of his head betrayed him, as Gil-galad's easy exposure of his emotions revealed his own imbibing of the sweet liquors. Seldom was the king so open in his expression, lest he was alone with Elrond, or ones close to him such as Cirdan. Perhaps, Elrond thought drowsily, he is well known to Celeborn and Galadriel too. He was not entirely certain. He watched them through hazy eyes, contemplating approaching, and then decided not to. The room did not remain still enough for him to trust his footing. He knew he had drunk too much, and the tiredness did not help him to resist.

A hand touched his shoulder. Elrond blinked and found himself gazing into the features of Cirdan, who smiled at him.

"You sit all alone, young one. Why do you not join your king? Are you uncertain of the Lady Galadriel? I assure you she will not bite."

Elrond smiled and shook his head. "Nay indeed. I find the Lady..." He considered for a few moments, uncertain as to what he saw in her. He did not find her frightening, though he had seen the trepidation with which many met her gaze. He recalled the cool brush he had felt upon the surface of his mind when he looked into the calm, turquoise gaze, like the faint, chilly stroke of the breeze. It was not her that was to be feared, but one's own conscience, if one thought there could be something therein that would be ill received. "I find her interesting," he concluded.

Cirdan chuckled softly. "Only you, young one," he said. "Only you."

"What do you mean by that?" Elrond asked, puzzled.

"I mean you have strange magic about you, son of Earendil. Only you, child of the stars, could gaze upon Galadriel without fear, but then, you know yourself well and know that only what you hold within is to be feared when you look upon the Lady. And only you," he lowered his voice. "Could have so bewitched the High King himself."

Elrond straightened. He had not realised that Gil-galad had told Cirdan of their involvement, though he immediately noted that the idea was not surprising. "It is not witchcraft that I work upon him," he said quietly.

"Yet you have magic within you, to touch his heart. I confess I was beginning to wonder if Ereinion even had a sexual preference, so few has he ever taken to his bed. Yet I hear he slept, ah, in your chambers last night.""

Elrond chuckled, flushing a little in spite of himself. Ereinion, for all his good nature and popularity among his court, was very reserved about affairs of the heart. Elrond was aware, though few were, that Ereinion's mother, Eleneste, had died in childbed, and Ereinion was reluctant to take a wife having firsthand experienced the grief of his father, an unusual and clearly disturbing affair.

"I have yet to feel aught for a woman," Gil-galad had whispered, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of Elrond's neck as they had lain together the night before the feast. Elrond had cautiously enquired as to whether there would be prospective brides present hoping to form alliances with the high king of Lindon. Gil-galad had groaningly replied that there always were. Leaning over he had nipped Elrond's ear and reassured him, "Relax, meleth-nin, I would not like to wed without feeling, to doom some poor maiden into being my brood mare for eternity. And," he added. "I have no great desire to be high king and a breeding stallion too."

"Perhaps you could settle for simply stallion?" Elrond had playfully enquired, turning in Gil-galad's embrace to brush their lips together. Clearly not averse to the suggestion, the king's response had not been verbal.

"You do not mind?" Elrond had said to Cirdan.

"Mind?" Círdan's amazement had shown upon his features. "Your discretion has so far impressed me and that is all I would care to advise you upon. Mind? Elrond, my delight knows no bounds!"

Their conversation had broken then, for someone had knocked over a half empty bottle of wine, flooding the table, but Elrond had not been able to quell the surge of delight those kind words had stirred within him.

Now he turned his head to look at the shipwright, speaking intently with Olwë and sighed. Now the situation could not be more different. He glanced down the table to Ereinion then, noting with a narrowing of his eyes that the younger elves were also drinking the wine and were becoming rather foolish. Ardís had started shooting peas across the table at Gildor. Her aim with thumb and forefinger was far better than her archery. Oropher, regarding them with disdain, drew out a small, slender book, rather ancient looking and entitled simply: Ballads. Tapping his fingers upon the table, he said condescendingly to Ereinion, who was scoring the pea-shooting game,

"Perhaps you should grow up a little. Listen to this..."

Elrond turned away, relieved that the behaviour was marginally more civilised. Reading at the table he could overlook. It was an improvement on outright war with flying vegetables.

But a moment later he heard Celebrían speak: "Oropher. Please do not read at the table. It is most impolite."

She did not speak loudly, but something in her tone made Elrond look up. Oropher smirked and passed her the book. Elrond started slightly when, a moment later, Glorfindel's hand passed it into his lap. He glanced at Celebrían and then seeing the prompt in her eyes, bent his head to study the book laid open on his knee. The words he read made his gut turn to ice.

Gil-galad was an elvin king,
Of him the harpers sadly sing,
The last whose reign was fair and free,
Beneath the mountains and the sea...*

Snapping the book shut, Elrond lifted alarmed eyes to search out Ereinion.

Too late he realised his mistake. The youngster was watching him, watching his reaction. Ereinion's midnight eyes widened, and he looked down at his plate, his shoulders rising and falling in an unsteady exhale. Too far away to offer any sort of comfort, Elrond could only wonder how much had been read aloud. In his mind he could hear the chilling toll of the last couplet of lines.

But long ago he rode away,
And where he dwelleth none can say,
For into darkness fell his star,
In Mordor where the shadows are.*

In his concern he failed to notice the emerald scrutiny that Ardís fixed upon her long-time friend. And so, when the last of the wine was finished and the company had finally risen from the table, he did not think to intercept her. Elrond saw the younger girl take Ereinion's arm and speak to him, watching as the pair exited the room together. He only saw Ereinion shake her loose at the doorway, leaving her standing, a frown upon her small brow, as he quickly left. Elrond hastily excused himself and followed, ignoring the bemusement upon the faces of his companions and the patronizing enquiry from Olwë as to where exactly he was going.

He stepped into the cool corridor, drawing the door swiftly closed behind him and glanced up and down the length of the passage. A resounding thud from the left caught his ear, whirling him around. Oropher went flying backwards to tumble heavily onto the flagstones, felled by Ereinion's fist. The Sinda lashed out with his feet, kicking Ereinion's from under him. Ereinion fell, half landing on Oropher and knocking him to the ground again. Oropher swung blindly, clipping Ereinion on the jaw. His fist was caught, and Oropher's angry curse was tinged with pain as Ereinion clamped his fingers closed hard. Elrond leapt forward, dragging Ereinion to his feet and thrusting him back toward the wall.

"Get up," Elrond said quietly to Oropher, holding out at hand to assist him. The Sinda glared at him. He scrambled backward in an undignified fashion, stumbling to his feet without aid, and then stalked away, a rising purple mark spreading across his cheekbone.

Elrond let him go, turning to Ereinion. The younger elf was standing rigid, his hands clenched into fists. Blazing blue eyes burned into Elrond's.

"He knew," Ereinion spat, his tone vibrating with anger. "He did that on purpose."

Startled, Elrond glanced in the direction Oropher had gone.

"I am not sure that he did, Ereinion."

"He did." Ereinion's anger was a living thing, pulsing through the air around them. "I do not know how, but he knew."

He remembered? Elrond closed his eyes. Not another one.

Ereinion held out his hand. Silently Elrond passed him the book. He watched with concern as Ereinion scanned the passage, his features unreadable. He lifted a forcedly neutral gaze to Elrond and quietly handed the book back.

"This was about me, then. Written after...?"

Elrond began to nod and then paused, turning with Ereinion at the sound of approaching footsteps. Círdan, alerted by Celebrian, had stilled a short distance from them. His countenance betrayed an expression of shock and sadness. It was all too clear that he had heard Ereinion's words. Ereinion glanced between his elders and sighed, reaching a hand up to rub his brow. His fingers shook slightly.

"I appreciate the concern, which is all too clearly written upon your faces, but please..."

He paused as a serving maid walked quickly past them and then re-opened the door into the banquet hall.

"Please," he repeated. "I think I need to ask a few questions. Could you take the grim expressions off your faces long enough to answer me?"

He walked into the hall, now deserted, for the visitors had relocated to a quiet antechamber to converse in closer groups and sip at cooling water to counter the wine. Ereinion held the door open as Elrond and Cirdan exchanged glances. The shipwright's eyes were tortured. Elrond could only begin to imagine the expression in his own gaze. The ballad, though a fitting tribute to the king Ereinion had been, still made him shudder. The music that poured from the page was so drowned in sadness and apprehension of the unknown fate of the deceased king that it brought him close to tears even to read it now. It captured, its very essence was that unbearable, relentless grief that had so nearly drowned Elrond in the early years after the Last Alliance. To read such words about oneself... Elrond was too controlled to shudder visibly, but the shiver passed through his bones like walking through the lingering phantom of a haunting soul.

Ereinion's sigh shook him from his tremors. "Come," the younger elf said, slightly sardonically. "I promise I will not break."

Elrond followed him inside, moving to one end of the now deserted long tables, while Cirdan closed the door and joined them. Elrond sat at the head of the table, Ereinion to his left, between himself and Cirdan. Elrond handed the book to Cirdan, who looked merely at its cover and paled, knowing what he would find amidst the songs inside. Ereinion cast him a sideways glance and then ignored him, though unease flickered briefly in his eyes. Elrond, catching his eye, tried to school his own features from the grave set they had fallen into. Ereinion needed support, not further troubling.

"So." Ereinion looked at his hands and then placed them palms flat upon the table. "I was a king in Middle-earth." He looked between his elders, both curious and visibly apprehensive. "Ardís, a few moments ago, said that perhaps there had been a reason between us naming me the high king of Valinor in our childhood game. She repeated high king and said then that she thought that I could be one, or perhaps had been one. Cirdan, I think she remembers. I know Oropher does," he added bitterly.

"Oropher?" Cirdan looked startled.

Ereinion nodded. "He knew that the ballad was about me. He knows that we can be reborn. We were all talking of it the other day. I did not think that any of them realised that it had happened to them. Perhaps they did not, until just now."

Círdan's forehead creased worriedly. "I shall have to keep an eye upon them then. Thank you for warning me about that."

Ereinion's nod was brisk. "So. What is a high king - is that not the king of kings? Is that who I was?"

"Ereinion, do you remember being so?" Elrond asked.

Ereinion growled wordlessly at him. "Elrond, please! I am tired of guessing games!"

"Ereinion, as I have explained before, it is no use me telling you stories; you will only learn my perspective upon things, instead of regaining your own memories," Elrond cautiously replied.

"That has already happened!" Ereinion shouted at him. "Oh Air and Fire!" he spat bitterly and buried his head in his hands. Cirdan reached out to touch his back, but Ereinion flinched angrily away. The shipwright cast a worried look in Elrond's direction.

More accustomed to the frustrated outbursts, Elrond persisted. "Ereinion, calm down."
He picked up a stray pitcher of water and poured a little into a glass, passing it to the younger elf. Ereinion shook his head, but when Elrond set it down, took it and took a sip.

"Calm down," Elrond repeated gently. "Think about it. Do you remember any of this?"

"No!" Ereinion snarled at him, and slammed his glass aside. The water slopped onto the cloth and he glowered at the grey stain the white cloth made as it soaked against the dark wood of the table. He paused, lifting his eyes to Elrond's.

"No... I do not know..." Ereinion trailed off, his gaze growing distant. "If I was the king, how did I...? Fingon, my father.... Finwe...my great grandfather was the - Elrond! Finwe was the king of the Noldor! The kingship passed to me through the family line and the high kingship after the ransacking of the havens, when Elwing fled with the Silmaril. Earendil did not return from his voyage; there was no lord left of Beleriand!"

Elrond was silent as the doctored histories he had so carefully separated collided violently in Ereinion's memory. Ereinion's eyes were wide, staring into the middle distance as though he gazed through the mists of time into Middle-earth itself. He touched a hand to his forehead, shaking. A faint line of sweat jewelled his brow and he wiped it away with trembling fingers.

"Air and Fire," he whispered. "Everything you said makes sense now. Even," he managed a low, unsteady laugh. "Even my father talking to me of the duty of wedding a wife - sons, of course, heirs to the throne..." He paused, frowning. "I have not heard tell of a high king from Middle earth - is there not one now?"

"No," Elrond quietly confirmed. He reached out a hand and Ereinion blindly gripped it.

"Why? After I - I assume I had no heirs; did no one take up the kingship, or has there been another since?"

"No." This time it was Cirdan who spoke. "No one took that title."

Elrond felt the shipwright's gaze upon him. Its weight was not hostile, but gently understanding. There had been many who had accused Elrond of shying from his responsibilities, for he had been named as Gil-galad's successor.

"How long ago was that? No, wait a moment..." Ereinion paused again, considering. "The crown must have passed to me in the Second Age, my father... I think he died - Turgon had the kingship in Gondolin, I remember Glorfindel saying so." He tapped his knuckles against his brow. "I cannot believe I had forgotten that! And when Turgon was killed in Gondolin, the crown must have passed to me... Dearest Elbereth! That was so long ago!" He breathed out, a shaky, shocked exhalation.

"It was," Cirdan said calmly. "A very long time ago."

"The Second Age," Ereinion repeated softly, shaking his head. "But I do not remember the Third..."

"My dear boy," Cirdan said gently, reaching out to lay a hand on Ereinion's shoulder.

But the younger elf stood up, pushing away from the table. He walked a few paces away and then stopped, turning slowly to face them once more. He met Elrond's eyes, and his own were darkened with his thoughts, his brow furrowed as the thoughts spilled from his mind.

"You were my herald. Ardís...she was blades master of the court... Oropher..." A startled laugh escaped him. "We have never been close! He died...in a battle...the Last Alliance."

There was an abrupt silence, Ereinion's eyes widening. He closed them quickly, pressing his lips together. Elrond glanced at Cirdan. The shipwright seemed to be holding his breath.

"That was when...." Ereinion did not complete the thought.

The silence sped the beats of Elrond's heart. So loud its erratic pounding sounded in his ears he knew not whether it was his own heartbeat he was hearing, or that of his companions. It seemed even feasible that the very winds were holding their breath, the heartbeat of Arda pulsing in suspense. Elrond could hear his own voice silently pleading to the eternity that beat around them that Ereinion did not remember. It was Cirdan who summoned courage enough to break the spell enthralling them.

"Ereinion, do you remember...?"

"No!" Ereinion's reply was quick and vehement. "No. And I do not want to. Please, please, do not tell me about it."

He wheeled away from them and moved to the window. His fingers tightly knotted around the sill. The moonlight streamed through the arched window, silhouetting him in the frame. When he turned back, slowly, everything about him was reined in, tightly controlled. He spoke directly to Elrond, and the echoes of a child, seemingly so far removed now, recalled the promise, the foundation upon which their alliance had tentatively first been formed.

"You do not have to cope with anything that you are not ready for. Promise me that you will tell me if you want any part of the past you will learn of to be put aside for a time."

"I do promise."

"I am not ready to hear about that yet."

Truths, Tempers, and Tattletales

The sun was high before ever they retired to rest. Though all could easily have done without the sink into unconscious slumber, the unspoken need to be apart, to gather scattered wits and calm private fears drove each to separate chambers under the pretext of sleep. Yet Elrond could not rest. Unsettled, he tossed and turned, kicking loose the covers only to draw them up again in attempt after failed attempt to settle comfortably. The sunlight poured through the window, casting golden patterns on the stones and passing across his bed to brightly blaze into his eyes. Closing them only served to warm his eyelids and produce a scarlet veil to his orbits that was not conducive to sleep. He rose, padded to the window and drew the drapes closed, darkening the room into the half-light that only emphasised the insistent presence of day beyond the curtains.

Elrond sighed, leaning back and staring up at the canopy of the bed. He did not know what he had expected from Ereinion. The previous night, when Oropher had first read the ballad aloud he had half thought the youngster would bolt or close down and refuse to speak of the entire event. Yet his acceptance, interest even, after the initial shock was a relief and, absurdly, Elrond had found himself expecting to find Ereinion Gil-galad fully restored to his former self. He was not. Elrond knew not whether he was disappointed, or relieved.

He was shaken from his musings when a cursory knock at the door barely preceded its opening. Elrond lifted his head, pushing himself up from the pillows as the door opened. Ereinion stood framed in the doorway, a robe loosely folded around his strong, slender form.

"Can you not sleep?" Elrond asked, sitting up properly and drawing the shed covers up to his knees.

Ereinion shook his head and sighed, entering the room and crossing to sit on the edge of the bed.
"It is not the sleeping, but the waking..." He trailed off with another sigh, scrubbing his knuckles across his brow. "I am sorry, I should not be disturbing you."

"I cannot rest," Elrond assured him.

Ereinion nodded, curling one leg up beneath him and leaning his back against the bedpost. For several long moments, silence peaceably reigned.

"How are you this day?" Elrond asked quietly, half an ear focused upon the perky whistling of a bird outside the drapes.

Ereinion glanced at him. "Stunned," he said frankly.

He rolled over and lay upon his back, staring up at the canopy.

"I do not know what to think. Suddenly I have all this information inside my head, I remember it happening, but it is so distant. It does not seem real." He sighed. "Is it real?"

"What do you think?" Elrond said gently. He propped himself up, looking down into Ereinion's upturned face.

The youngster looked away. "I cannot believe it. It does not quite sink in."

Elrond was quiet for a moment. The feeling was not unfamiliar to him.

"The heart and the head are masters of deception," he said finally. "What we know to be true is often denied, so that we may have time to adjust to the weight of the truth. What logically we know, the heart disbelieves. What the heart believes in, logic will deny. There is a part of you who still sees yourself as a child, a child who could not truly have this other lifetime behind him."

Ereinion rolled his eyes up to glance at Elrond. He nodded. "Is that foolish of me?"

Elrond shook his head. "Allow yourself time, Ereinion. We have all eternity, do not forget that; you are allowed to think that way for a while."

"It is all about time," Ereinion said wearily.

He sighed, closing his eyes to effectively cease the conversation. He made no move to leave, however, and after a time, Elrond quietly picked up a book, beginning to skim through the pages, allowing the younger elf space yet offering him silent company. He did not notice when his own eyes finally closed.

* * * * *

It was late when they eventually rose and Ereinion departed for his own chambers to dress. Elrond slid from the bed and collected the basin of water left outside the door each morning. He rinsed face and hands, missing the little rivers from the valley of Rivendell that had flowed through a single chamber and provided running water for washing each day. Regarding his reflection in the cool water, Elrond silently noted the faint signs of the years that touched his familiar countenance. Elrond pushed his fingers across his forehead, and scraped them back through his hair. Ereinion's shock at the great passage of time and his incomprehension at the years he himself had amassed made Elrond feel every minute of his own age. He flicked a finger through the water and set about changing his clothes.

He located Ereinion once more in the main kitchens. Celebrían was speaking with the head maids about the preparations for the midday feast for the Council, while Cirdan was apparently supervising Ereinion and Oropher. The younger elves were toying with breakfast, evidently pressed upon them by a maid to keep them from beneath her feet. Celebrían, squeezing oranges, handed Elrond a glass of juice. He leaned against the countertop beside her, handing her new glasses as she filled them.

"Ereinion." Oropher spoke into the hush that lay beneath the cheerful clattering of pans and the soft, pulpy squishing of the oranges. Discomfort radiated from his every tension-riddled limb. He fiddled awkwardly with his spoon, pushing flakes of cereal around his bowl. Fierce lines of scarlet humiliation burned along his cheekbones. He put down the utensil abruptly. "Ereinion, I am sor-"

"If you apologise to me I will cut your head off." Ereinion spoke very quietly to his plate. But the threat in his tone was unmistakable. His features were grim as he turned to Oropher. "I care not what Celebrían or Cirdan has told you to do - if you dare to say that, I will kill you."

Oropher stared at him. His features flushed crimson and then paled. His green eyes hardened.
"Fine," he sneered. "You never could handle the truth, Ereinion - nor do you ever like to be wrong!"

Ereinion slammed his own spoon down. "Fine words coming from you!"

"Temper, temper," Oropher mockingly returned. His voice was maddeningly cool.

Ereinion clenched his fists, and then deliberately picked up his spoon and started to eat again. Oropher curled his lip. Then he rose, excusing himself from the table. The door snapped closed behind him. Celebrían grimaced. Cirdan opened his mouth, and Ereinion sighed audibly. The shipwright's silvery brows rose.

"That, Ereinion, was unacceptable!"

"I know."

"He was trying to apologise."

"I know."

"Ereinion..."

"Cirdan, please," Ereinion looked up with another impatient sigh.

"I am just trying to point out that neither Celebrían nor I prompted him to do that," Cirdan said quietly.

"No, which is precisely why he chose to do it in front of you so that the magnanimity of the gesture would not go unmissed and my lack of gratitude brings me rebuke," Ereinion said sharply.

"I think that you are being unfair," Cirdan answered.

Ereinion opened his mouth as though to speak harshly and then clenched his jaw shut.
"Fine."

He pushed back his chair and stood up, excusing himself and exiting. The door slammed behind him.

Celebrían sighed, and crushed another orange rather harder than necessary. Cirdan shook his head in frustration, making as if to rise too. Elrond reached out and laid a hand on the shipwright's arm.
"Leave him a while. Let him calm down."

Cirdan nodded, sinking back into his seat. "I know that I should," he sighed. "I never used to feel the need to chase after him as though he is a horse that has broken his rope."

"It does no good," Elrond replied, shaking his head.

"I have not his temper," Cirdan said, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "I do not know why he feels moved to anger as he does."

Elrond smiled. "Nay, but then you are the master of peace, Cirdan. The day I see you stirred to fury will be one in which the very vault of the stars shall fall upon our heads." He chuckled. "Whereas those two," he glanced toward the door that first Oropher, then Ereinion had abused. "Would have pulled the sky down in their anger long afore now, could it be done."

"Do you think Ereinion was correct about Oropher?" Cirdan uneasily mused.

"I think Oropher was correct about Ereinion," Elrond replied frankly. "As for your question, I know not. I believe Oropher, king of Mirkwood, more than capable of such manipulations, yet I know this child he now is not at all."

"I feel the apology was heartfelt, poor little mite," the maid Celebrían was speaking with observed over her shoulder. "Did you see how uncomfortable he looked? That Oropher is quite the young gentleman."

"When he chooses to be," Celebrían cautioned, and the maid fell obediently silent. "I am inclined to think well of his apology, but I am certain that he meant to upset Ereinion last night."

"Well, it seems it worked, whatever he did. Master Ereinion is not one for showing that temper of his very often," the maid remarked.

"I do not think it worked, actually," Cirdan said. "Elrond?"

Elrond did not have the chance to formulate an answer, for at that moment, Gailel burst through the kitchen door. Her dress was torn and muddy as though from a struggle, her long dark hair straggling loose from its long plait.
"Ereinion and Oropher are fighting," she gasped.

Cirdan closed his eyes for a long moment. Then he rose with a sigh. "Coming, Gailel, coming," he said, allowing the anxious maiden to grasp his hand and hurriedly tow him from the kitchen. Elrond cast a look at Celebrían, sharing a brief, exasperated smile with her and then followed in Círdan's wake.

* * * * *

Expecting similar antics to the previous night, uncivilised fisticuffs and little more, Elrond stopped short at the ominous ring of metal upon metal. Cirdan, however, strode forward into the practice arena wherein the youngsters were exacting their dispute, picked up a sword from the rack at the side and slid the blade directly between theirs. The two were startled apart, first annoyance and then guilt crossing their countenances.

"Oropher, put your sword down and go to your duties, please," Cirdan said calmly. "Ereinion - ready?"

Elrond watched in quiet surprise as Cirdan raised his blade and faced Ereinion. Strangely there was no resistance from either of the youngsters. Oropher slid his weapon back into the rack without a word and walked off in the direction of the stables. He stumbled as he went past Ardís, who was lying in the grass watching the duel. Elrond cast her a quelling glower and the impudent redhead withdrew her foot from Oropher's path with a smirk. Gailel hurried over to her and Ardís sat up to re-plait the wind-tousled hair of her friend. Elrond turned his eyes back to the ring.

The silvery flash of colliding steel hummed its lethal melody through the air. The intricate steps of practiced combat led the two elves in a dance around the sandy arena. Ereinion fought hard. The confusion, hurt and fear he had repressed for the night and the morning of that day were mirrored in every vicious strike of his blade. Cirdan blocked the blows, keeping himself from harm, yet allowing himself to be driven backwards by the hard strokes, the force of which quivered up both swords men's arms. Even in his pent up frustration Ereinion fought well, directing, controlling his anger, not foolish enough to sacrifice skill to careless fury. The ringing clash of the blades hitting reverberated through the air, the faint echoes dissipating the turmoil of emotions that was the driving force behind Ereinion's strikes.

* * * *

Ereinion's dark mane slapped wetly against his shoulders, shining with sweat as he struck, and sliced through Círdan's steady strikes. The shipwright's fighting style held none of the flair Ereinion's did even now, echoes of which Elrond knew were to be found in his own blade wielding. Cirdan fought steadily, conservatively. Gradually, as Elrond watched, the shipwright began to push back. His experience quickly told on the already tired youngster, for Cirdan gained ground, forcing backward steps from Ereinion, pressing him to submit a little.

Ereinion's strokes grew less incensed, sweat breaking out across his brow as he blocked and parried Círdan's strokes, gradually falling into the defensive and ceasing his attacks. He swung the sword now as though it had doubled in weight. Dark locks of hair tumbled over his face and he pushed them away with a hasty hand; sweat was dripping into his eyes. The flat of Círdan's sword clipped his knuckles and Ereinion's blade struggled up to cut it away. Again the shipwright moved into an attack, pushing, ever pushing. Not hard, but asking Ereinion again and again for some sign of submission.

Ereinion's breath came in heaving gasps, yet still he did not relent. Then he stumbled, recovering faster than Elrond though possible, and managed to knock Círdan's blade aside once more, but the stroke was a weary one. Too tired, perhaps beyond caring, Ereinion did not move to attack. Cirdan held his sword poised for a few moments and then lowered it.

"Better?"

Ereinion drew a hand made unsteady by fatigue across his forehead, and rested his sword tip against the ground.

"Yes. Thank you."

Cirdan nodded, sliding his sword back into its abandoned scabbard and giving Ereinion's shoulders a quick squeeze.

"Sorry," the younger elf said quietly.

Cirdan nodded again. "I do not want to see that happen again, Ereinion." His tone was heavy with reproof.

The younger elf said nothing, but his head was slightly bowed. He sheathed his practice sword in the rack and stored Círdan's too. The shipwright cast Elrond a rueful shake of the head and a smile, before turning his tracks toward the stables in search of Oropher. Elrond quietly melted back into the shadows cast by the great house, kindly making himself scarce before Ereinion registered his presence.

Bridges and Barriers

The knock on his chamber door did not come as a surprise. Having retreated to his rooms once it was clear that the fight was dispelled, Elrond had half expected Ereinion to appear. The younger elf was freshly garbed in a simple silver tunic, patterned in mithril hues that faintly depicted weaponry around the edgings, and black breeches. His dark hair was wet from the bathing chambers and hung loose down his back, staining darker, iron-coloured patches onto the elven silks. Elrond caught his breath at the sight of the younger elf. Forcing his thoughts quickly from the beauty before him, Elrond ran a healer's eye over the youngster, relived to see that some of the coiled tension of earlier had eased from the strong, slender form. There was a calmness about Ereinion that had not been apparent during his earlier visit, though around his eyes and lips there were the telltale signs of tension to be found in slight crinkles that did not quite make up a frown.

"I am not disturbing you?" Ereinion asked, his hand lingering on the door as he opened it.

"Come in," Elrond invited.

Ereinion closed the door with a sigh. A lock of ebony hair slid damply across his face and he reached up a hand to brush it aside. But the gesture stilled mid-motion and he grimaced, raising the other hand instead.

"Are you hurt?" Elrond asked, recalling the collision between Círdan's blade and the youngster's hand mid-fight.

"Oh, it is nothing," Ereinion replied, shaking his head.

"May I be the judge?"

Elrond crossed the room and took his hand, gently uncurling the fingers to examine the damage. Cirdan's blade had caught the younger elf hard, though it was small surprise, given the rapidity with which blows had been exchanged. Elrond regarded the already swiftly purpling flesh and, feeling the heat that had risen across the sensitive knuckles, moved to fill a basin of water.

Ereinion rolled his eyes. "Elrond, there is no need to fuss. It is nothing, and I deserved it anyway."

Elrond ignored him, pouring arnica into the water to ease the swelling of the bruise. He indicated the bed, and with another heavenward roll of his eyes, the younger elf obeyed. Elrond took his hand once more, pressing a soaked cloth against the damaged flesh. Ereinion winced slightly.

"Hurts?" Elrond asked.

"Nay," Ereinion quickly rebuffed.

Elrond smiled to himself, dampening the cloth once more and squeezing cooling water over the injured hand. The damage was minimal; a simple knock easily sustained in any practice, yet it pleased him to tend the younger elf, and offered opportunity to talk. But for a little time, it was silence that peacefully surrounded them.

"I want to know more." Ereinion eventually broke the quiet. "About my past, Elrond. I need to know more."

Elrond rinsed out the cloth he was using, dabbed it once more in the arnica and gently laid the rag across the younger elf's knuckles.

Ereinion pulled a slight face, flexing his fingers and then sighed. "I was a king - of a place I barely recollect, in a time I know virtually nothing of. I want to have a look at the documents from that time, the occurrences - wars and such similar events. I know it will be only history to me, unless I remember it, but I would wish to know for the simple sake of knowing."

Elrond tilted his head to look at the younger elf. The slight frown that marred the familiar countenance attractively crinkled the high, kingly brow and Elrond looked quickly away. Ereinion had not technically aged in years, for barely a half-day had passed since the revelations of the previous night, yet in some indescribable way he was older. As the deep cobalt eyes turned to him, Elrond realised that it was therein that lay the great impact of the memories. Ereinion's soul was ancient. And now it was aware of that fact. It was similar in Glorfindel, and also Ecthelion, the latter whose only indication of his age lay within his tawny gaze, eyes that could stare into the past, far beyond where Elrond's sight could reach. One day, Ereinion too would be capable of that.

For a moment Elrond closed his eyes, wishing with all his heart that it were so now. This endless battle with Ereinion's years - he yearned, in resigned silence, for the gentle touch of Gil-galad's hand on his shoulder, the murmur of thanks spoken barely audible from the corner of the king's mouth, the strong wrap of his arms around Elrond's waist in private. Support. Glorfindel, now residing with Ecthelion, was so little around, and Celebrian, partnered now to Cirdan, was often busy in the life she had carved for herself upon the cliffs of Valinor. With the two constant companions that had supported him through the ages otherwise occupied, and Ereinion was a child. Yet not even that. He was neither child nor adult, neither himself nor a stranger. Elrond closed his eyes, silently wishing for guidance upon the decision.

He shook himself, and sighed. "Very well. We can depart to the library over the next few weeks. I shall get Cirdan's key to the restricted section." Elrond had his own key, but out of courtesy to the shipwright concealed this fact in silent decision to ascertain that Cirdan would not object any further than his current reluctance to allow Ereinion access to his past.

Ereinion nodded distractedly. "Elrond..."

Elrond raised an eyebrow at him, not speaking lest his voice cause Ereinion to break off from his thoughts, yet questioning with eyes and expression.

"Nothing. And thank you. I want to know the truth about my years as king, as everything."

Something about the way he laid emphasis on "truth" made Elrond's eyebrows lift a little higher. He touched the younger elf's hair lightly, brushing back the damp locks. "Is this perhaps due to Oropher's remarks?"

"No." Ereinion's sidelong glance betrayed him.

Elrond hid his smile as he removed the cloth from Ereinion's fingers and gently brushed his thumb over the bruised skin. Ereinion watched him, silently revelling in the strange sensation of mild, aching pain combined with the silky caress of Elrond's long fingers. He closed his eyes, finding consolation once more simply in Elrond's presence. Watching him, Elrond closed his own eyes, firmly reining in his desire to pull the younger elf close to him and simply hold him. Finally Ereinion flexed his fingers once more and then drew his hand free.

"Have you finished fussing now?"

Elrond managed a quick smile. "Well, I could perhaps find a bandage..."

Ereinion hid his hands behind his back, quirking a smile at Elrond.
"Are you trying make Cirdan feel guilty?"

Elrond grinned. "It might perhaps make him more disposed to our access of the restricted library."

Ereinion immediately held out his hands again, a smile playing across his lips. Elrond laughed, rising and gently swatting the younger elf's wrists. Ereinion caught his hand and let Elrond pull him to his feet.

* * * *

Over the subsequent months Elrond devoted a considerable portion of his time to his old scholarly habits, spending many hours in the extensive libraries of the House of Valinor. The collection had been compiled over the long years that signalled the inexorable passing of time, which had brought about the waning of the elves in Middle-earth and led them into the timeless realm of Valinor. Yet Elrond longed privately for his libraries in Rivendell. Storage and ease of travel had prevented him from transporting all save a precious few of his beloved collection, and Elrond rued its loss increasingly. Within it had been a great many texts from the years of Ereinion's kingship, many more personal than the eclectic compilations that they instead examined.

Yet, Elrond reflected one evening after Ereinion had departed to spend the twilight sailing with Ardís, perhaps the loss of his volumes was not so entirely unfortunate. He had in his possession his own account, faithful to the letter of his personal recollections that detailed the span of time from his coming unto life with the Eldar unto the departure from Middle-earth. It was not a journal - Elrond considered his own thoughts frequently self-indulgent enough to have no need for such an item - but a historical record of the dealings of the elves as he recollected them. But that book he neither spoke of nor showed to Ereinion. His conscience cautioned him against it, for therein also lay the account of the fateful day from which Oropher's ballad had been born. Beyond that also he feared simply that the account was too personal for Ereinion, in his state of partial recollection, to be comfortable reading - too close to what he should remember, rather than the more detached accounts from elvin scribes.

Time crept onward - or rather, the seasonal changes that signified the movement of years continued. Time was suspended in Valinor, in a similar manner to the way in which it had been withheld by the great power of the rings Vilya and Nenya in Rivendell and Lothlórien, yet instead of being temporary resistance it was a permanent state of existence. Much of the time Elrond and Ereinion shared was spent within the vast libraries, for beyond their walls, Elrond spent increasing amounts of time in the Healing Halls, attempting tentatively to recover his innate powers without the support of Vilya, on which he was troubled to discover he had come greatly to rely. Aranel said that it was to be expected, given the toll the years had been quietly taking upon the elves the longer they had lingered in Middle-earth. There was also to be considered the fact that Elrond had internalised much of Vilya's power through his careful use of her to sustain his realm, yet Elrond disliked the discovery that his natural gift had become dependent upon the ring. Ereinion, while Elrond was thus occupied, spent time with Ardís, whose interest in history, even her own - though she was slowly recovering her memories - was minimal. They rode, sailed and practiced their weapon-crafts together.

Some eight years turned by and Elrond accepted a place upon the Council of Valinor. Once more it had been Elbereth's gentle words that had swayed his heart. It seemed that the Council of Valinor was an echo of the great council of the Valar, and an attempt to breach the long-established divisions between the elvin kindred. In Elrond's experiences, however, it seemed to serve quite the reverse.

After a twelve month, Ereinion began to accompany him to the meetings of the council. His interest in the histories of the elvin people and the gradual recovery of some of his memories led him to express an interest in the matters of elvin politics. Elrond greatly appreciated his company; glad of another opinion upon the Council and its members, from one who was within yet slightly outside of its bounds. Glorfindel, the only member of the Council with whom Elrond could otherwise speak frankly, had accepted Ecthelion's offer of a lordship within his realm, and Elrond saw little of him. Cirdan was always restrained in his opinions, and Celebrían would not take a place upon the Council herself.

At times Ereinion seemed almost entirely restored to himself - at least in the ways of government, though he did not publicly contribute at the Council. He was, however, unchanged in his understanding of his relations with people, Elrond dismally included. And it was this that occasionally served to vigorously underscore his continued youth.

* * * *

Galadriel's proposal for assuming the ladyship over an area of land was placed to the Council in Ereinion's fortieth year. And to Elrond's dismay there was much dissention surrounding her request.

"It is land that belongs to the Teleri people," Olwe rumbled. "I do not like to see such sacred ground given into the hands of the Exiles!"

Galadriel stiffened, and Elrond saw Cirdan put his head in his hands wearily.

"It was ground gifted to the Noldor who returned in supplication to the will of the Valar and in the possession of their descendants. I say that it could and should be bestowed upon my kin - my daughter - and with every right," Finarfin objected.

"It is an insult to the Teleri that those unrepentant should reside upon it!" Olwe angrily countered. "You returned in humility and friendship, which did much to atone for the evil deeds of yourselves and your kin. Never once have the remaining Exiles - she who calls herself my granddaughter included - graced their tongues with such words!"

"You are mistaken," Galadriel began in glacial tones, for she had spent many hours in counsel with Manwë and Elbereth to pay penance for her failings. But Olwe ignored her, his indignation centred upon his target, Finarfin.

"Do you now condone the actions of the king-slaughterers, Finarfin? Say you nay? Then how can you so easily bestow lands of slain peoples into the hands of their murderers?"

"It is bloodied land; perhaps 'tis fit only for them," Gailwen coolly inserted.

"She is my daughter!" Finarfin icily snapped.

"Olwe, please," Cirdan interjected. "May we not lay aside our age-old grudges and cease to maintain this wretched divide between our peoples? The Teleri stood fast in friendship with the Noldor once afore and welcomed them back to these shores when they begged our forgiveness. Can we say now that our alliances do not hold true?"

"Yours, Cirdan, are known to be suspect," Olwe retorted.

His gaze slid pointedly to Ereinion, who was seated on Elrond's right, following the disagreement with narrowed eyes. Ereinion met his gaze steadily, his eyes darkening at the implicit insult. Elrond laid a hand on his arm and Ereinion held his tongue.

"You will leave Ereinion out of this discussion," Cirdan sternly commanded.

"I speak not of him, but of you," Olwe countered. "It was you who once before, and now again, raised this child of the kin-slaughterers."

"I have no wish to deny it. That is as much my honour now as ever it was. You would not tar each of your ships with the same brush, regardless of their build and intricacies, Olwe; why should you blame each of that line as though they are not equal in their individuality?"

"The ships have not the tendencies born into their wood that flow in the blood of the accursed Noldor race - you raised another creature that could have slain yet more of your kin!"

"Oh, hold your tongue, Olwe. As the stories tell it, did not Ereinion lay down his life for our people?" Idril irritably drawled.

"'Twas also his failings and that of his ancestors that helped bring that doom upon them!" Olwe barked.

"Enough!" Elrond said sharply, casting a concerned glance at the still and silent youngster at his side.

"Silence!" Olwe hissed at him. "You bear the public mark of the follies of Gil-galad upon your finger. Do not presume to silence me, Elrond Peredhel! Gil-galad was naught more than another of the deceitful Noldor. The single favour the Dark Lord ever did was to send that cursed line to the Dark Halls - would that they had all descended there to stay!"

"Olwe! Guard your tongue!" Glorfindel cried, but his words were lost beneath Finarfin's enraged reaction to the insult to his people, and Galadriel's icy tones slicing into the rapidly rising voices.

The shattering of glass splintered the conversations. Startled silence followed. Fragments from a crystal goblet, deliberately smashed, spun wildly across the table surface. Rainbow patterns danced off every wall, reflecting and refracting from the other glasses. Ereinion was on his feet, his palms slammed down onto the tabletop.

"I know not what I have or have not done to cause you such offence, Olwe," he said coldly. His measured tone brought the impression of composure though his breathing was hard and fast. "Frankly, at this moment I do not care. I am beyond disgust for the actions of my kin who shed blood of yours upon these shores. But I will not apologise for something I do not understand. Speak, therefore, not of me, but attend to the matter in hand, for you have considerably digressed! Build bridges, and do not burn them. What is done is damned well done!"

Silence beat around the table, striking members of the Council and settling thick between them. Idril slowly began to applaud. "Thank Elbereth some has sense amongst us."

"You should be ashamed it takes a child to speak you reason," Gandalf remarked, looking up from the smoke of his pipe that he had studied with more interest than the quarrel.

"Particularly when you have spoken so unkindly of one who is present before you." Frodo, who sat ever upon their councils, though noticeably unsettled by the heated words, now spoke reproachfully.

"Out of the mouths of babes," Ecthelion said lightly. He winked at Ereinion to lift the insult from his words.

Olwe and Finarfin, however, continued to stare at Ereinion as he resumed his seat, brows still grimly drawn. Elrond studied their expressions dubiously. Olwe's features registered shock and, as Elrond had feared, his chin was lifted in offence. But in his eyes intrigue dared spark a light.

"You would both do well to mind your words," Glorfindel severely warned. "It is not fair to speak of things that cannot be comprehended by all, and certainly not at the expense of another. No one person can embody the entirety of their race."

"That child should not even be present," Finarfin replied, eyeing Ereinion with strange dislike for one who had never known the high king Gil-galad.

"Or perhaps he has more right than all of us," Tuor suggested, and Idril continued: "Indeed, for it is not only he who is unversed in the truly ancient histories. Perhaps the advice to us is to neither think nor speak more upon them and create instead a new course for fate."

"As does a phoenix from his ashes when the fire has consumed him," Ecthelion supplied, casting a soft glance in Glorfindel's direction. Elrond registered with a moment's surprise the affection within the eyes of each and wondered that he had not noticed it before.

Olwe gave a curt nod. "Wise words all," he finally acknowledged. "Forgive me. As to the matter of the lands, grant me a little time to reflect upon it, please."

"Until tomorrow, 'ere your departure," Galadriel assented.

Again Olwe nodded. But Finarfin said that they knew of his heart, and took his leave within the hour.

The meeting disbanded then, and Elrond followed Ereinion's abrupt retreat out into the twilight. Ereinion stopped a little distance from the front steps, sensing Elrond's approach and he exhaled sharply, some of the tensions easing from his frame.

"Are you-?" Elrond concernedly began.

"No," Ereinion said flatly. "No, I am not fine."

Elrond moved closer, laying gentle hands on his shoulders and Ereinion leaned back against him.
"I do not understand," he said softly. "Not all of it."

Elrond squeezed the tense muscles beneath his fingers. "What do you not understand?"

"Much of the insults," Ereinion's laugh was sharp and unamused. "I know of the rings," he said, sliding a hand up to entwine his fingers with Elrond's and running his thumb over the many-faceted sapphire of Vilya, tilting his head so that he could look at her. "I know that it was the choices Galadriel and I made that brought our people into such danger, and the crafting of the rings by Celebrimbor that led to the ensnaring of the nine kings of men, trapping them forever as the ringwraiths. I know that a great many of our kind were enraged by that choice. As Olwe so kindly reminded me." He was quiet again.

"Do you regret that decision?" Elrond asked.

Ereinion sighed, releasing Elrond's hands and turning to face him. "I would make it again," he said. "If the decision were once more mine to be made. The elves would have diminished long afore their time without Vilya and Nenya and Narya. There might have been none left to withstand the coming of the second darkness. Though perhaps," he sighed again. "In retrospect, without the crafting of all the rings, there might never have been a first."

The twilight cast shadows upon his features, darkening his eyes and illuminating his cheekbones in haunted relief.

"I do not believe that," Elrond answered softly. "Such determination had the Dark Lord then that such a failure would not have prevented him. Recall, if you will, it was not you who fell under the spell of Annatar, when few others of our kind from Middle-earth could claim that."

"True, true," Ereinion said, exhaling and relaxing a little. "Though I shall be eternally grateful that I had your sage guidance to rely upon."

Elrond smiled, touched by the words. But Ereinion's countenance grew dark once more and he frowned, turning away to stare out over the sea as though Ossë held, within his great, bottomless waters, the answer.

"But as to the rest, the kin-slayings, the fate of my kind..." He trailed off, and stood very still, as though trying to restrain a desire to shiver. "I know of them, true: the kin slayings themselves, the injuries done to the Teleri. And now the whispered words that often are heard upon these shores that curse those times make sense. But I do not understand what moved them to such actions. I do not think that I ever will."

Elrond was silent for a moment, recalling Ereinion's words upon the kin-slayings. Elrond suspected Finarfin's resentment had stemmed from Ereinion's harsh words on his kin. As the tales told it, Finarfin had not supported the rashness of Feanor, and it was that which had returned him to Valinor and Tirion while his brothers went on, causing unforgivable destruction and walking to their own dooms. But Finarfin made no attempt to deny his own connection to the kin-slayers. He had even welcomed his rebellious daughter home while her grandsire shunned her. Finarfin seemed almost offended by Ereinion's animosity toward his close kin.

But Ereinion never now spoke with any kindness of the kin-slayers. And why should he? Elrond argued with himself. He was born and raised in this time, among the people who were most greatly injured by those days, save the Noldor themselves. He remembers Fingon, and his reasons, but they have been overridden by the feelings he developed against the kin-slayers before those memories were recalled. He can remember, but not feel himself being chained to Middle-earth, fighting a battle that could not be won, simply because his people had fought for their freedom therein, however foolish a choice it had been. He owes nothing now to the kin-slayers. Why should he have aught but disgust for them? Because... Because once he was different.

Shaking off his disturbing thoughts, Elrond moved up beside him, casting a swift glance at the troubled youngster's countenance. "You will."

I hope.

Ereinion fixed him with a jaundiced eye. "Will I want to?"

"You know that you do or it would not concern you now," Elrond pointed out.

Ereinion chuckled. "Would that I were Ardís, and cared naught for what has gone before, living only for this present moment without regard for past or future. It cannot be changed. I wonder why indeed it does worry me."

"You like to understand situations," Elrond answered. "You always did, Ereinion. That is what made you the great king you were, that you sought to find the truth and fought for what you believed in. You liked to know the details of the situation and understand them before you planned anything. Could you offer anything less to the understanding of yourself?"

"No," Ereinion admitted with a rueful shake of his head. "Ah Elrond, you know not how glad I am that you are here. How well you know me! Sometimes I think that you are the key to understanding who I am."

TBC...