Fading Away by Ireth_Telrunya
Elrond couldnÂ’t concentrate on anything for the remainder of the day. He was immensely glad when the sun set, when he could slip into sleepÂ’s embrace and forget all the troubles of his life. For a short time at least, the Web would evade his thought.
But it wasnÂ’t so. The elfÂ’s sleep was riddled with dreams, the most bizarre and fearsome of them standing out in his memory for a long time afterwardÂ…
He was in the Halls of Mandos, staring at the countless tapestries lining the walls around him. The familiar rustling and clicking sounds met his ears. But something was different. The space between the rows of tapestries was narrower, so that his fingers brushed two wall-hangings if he even slightly extended his arms.
He glanced to his left, and saw a familiar scene unfolding. It was evidently his birth; his mother was sitting on a couch, and his father was standing at her side. Both parents had their arms positioned as though holding babies. Elrond soon saw that his adult self was missing; this was apparently his “first” birth.
But it was wrong. Only Eärendil held a child; Elwing’s arms were empty, despite the way she held them. Either young Elrond or his brother was missing. But which one?
If it had been correct, and both parents had been holding infants, the half-elf was sure that the scene depicted here would be the moments following ElrosÂ’ birth, and not just his own. But one of the children was nowhere to be seenÂ…
He realized with a jolt that it was him. This must have been what Lórien had been talking about… You are disappearing from every tapestry of your existence, one by one.
Heart racing, Elrond turned to the tapestry on his right. The same scene met his eyes, but it was as it had happened four years previously. Elrond himself stood beside his mother, beaming as he held his infant self. Eärendil’s face glowed with pride as he gently rocked his younger son in his arms.
Quite literally, rockedÂ…
Elrond gasped. The people embroidered on the cloth were moving; Eärendil was rocking Elros back and forth as Elrond II tried to pull Vilya from the finger of his older self, and Elwing smiled calmly as a servant gently wiped perspiration from her forehead.
He moved on to the next tapestries, and saw on either side of him the celebratory feast for his birthday. On the elfÂ’s left, there was a total absence of Elrond I and the Valar; not so on the right. Again the difference was striking, and the embroidered figures were moving.
The half-elf walked warily forward, seeing more and more of his life unfold. He noticed a regular pattern; the tapestries on his left did not move, and the ones on his right did. The pictures were so precise, Elrond could almost hear them speaking to each other.
He had to fight back tears at the sight of a tapestry that showed his motherÂ’s death. The embroidered figure of Elwing was running swiftly toward the shores of the sea, earnestly clutching the Silmaril to her breast. The waves slapped against the shore and her body as she ran into the water, deeper and deeper, finally disappearing beneath the surface.
Elrond watched for a few tense moments, and frowned as the scenario repeated itself from the beginning; Elwing appeared again at the rightmost edge of the tapestry, running toward the left side. Again Elrond watched as she flung herself and the Silmaril into the ocean, and wept quietly as he moved on.
The very next wall-hanging showed what looked like a mere expanse of blank blue ocean beneath a dark sky; Elrond frowned at it, waiting for it to move. He was rewarded a few seconds later as a great white swan erupted from the water in an embroidered, foamy splash. A jewel resembling a large diamond literally glowed in her feathery breast.
Elrond smiled as the bird soared triumphantly toward a silver ship which sailed into view on the other side of the tapestry. It was his fatherÂ’s ship, Vingilot; there was no mistaking it. The half-elf took a moment to revel in the sweetness of truth before moving on.
Time rolled on beside him; two lives of the same elf, parallel, but notably different. Many prominent characters of Elrond’s “second” life were not mentioned in the first; Caranel, for instance. Others were in both, but met differing fates: on the left, Maedhros met his doom in a fiery chasm, taking one of the Silmarils down with him, while Maglor went into exile, casting the last jewel into the sea. On the right, the events were shown as in the past few weeks.
But Elrond soon spotted a strange thing: one of the tapestries on the left showed him as a child, when none of the previous ones had. It showed he and his brother travelling with Gil-galad to Lindon.
All at once Elrond was aware of an unnatural hissing sound. But it was no human voice; it was coming from the tapestry he was staring at. He gasped at the horrific sight.
Thread by thread, the likeness of Elrond was unravelling from the tapestry. From the feet upward, his image was disappearing completely. The threads didnÂ’t fall away, but merely vanished into thin air, stitch by stitch. Absolutely nothing else was affected.
Elrond hurriedly backed away as far as he could, feeling cloth at his back. The sensation of the tapestries behind him was reassuring; it reminded him that he still had a life to live in the present, even as his past life was stripped away. But that didnÂ’t change what was happening right before his eyes.
He moved to the next tapestry, not wanting to watch himself disappear. There he was, as he was supposed to be, entering Mithlond at his brotherÂ’s side. The elf sighed silently in relief.
But the fading wasnÂ’t finished. No sooner had Elrond let out his breath than his image in front of him began to vanish just as the previous one had. The elf hurried away, breaking into a run. The whispers followed menacingly.
Elrond sprinted past nearly six and a half thousand years. His old life flashed before his eyes, and he did not stop to look at itÂ… the terrible whispers were hot on his trailÂ…
And at long last, he reached a dead end. He could never escape now. He glanced futilely to his left and right, meeting, in turn, a blank wall and an image from a long-lost dream. His embroidered likeness stood before those of Mandos and Lórien, whose faces were grave; he remembered it like it was yesterday, the departure from imminent death to new life…
Did Vairë weave the journey back in time?
He had his answer, didnÂ’t he? Was he living in layers, his old life being stripped away as he progressed through the ages of the new one?
The hisses of destruction were nearing him with every secondÂ… he could almost feel them tearing at him as they came ever closerÂ…
They caught up.
Elrond gaped in dumbfounded horror as his toes peeled away from his feet, unwinding in thin fibresÂ… he was frozen to the floor, he couldnÂ’t move to fleeÂ… there was nowhere to goÂ…nothing to do but wait for the slow, agonizing end.
But it didnÂ’t hurt all that muchÂ… if he were an onion, this must be what it felt like to be peeledÂ… rather ticklish, not very torturousÂ… He almost laughed as the feeling crept up his thighs and progressed to his torsoÂ… and suddenly it occurred to him that he was nothing but a chest, arms and head floating a few feet above the ground. Odd, reallyÂ…
Â…and as the last few strands of his hair blew away into oblivion, Elrond sat bolt upright in his bed and awoke with a gasp.
The elf stared around him in mute shock. It had all been a dreamÂ… he was still alive.
Slowly, carefully, he pulled back the blankets that covered his legs. He was whole again; an elf, not just a bunch of flying threadsÂ…
He shuddered at the memory of the dream. The horrible hissing sound of the unravelling strands refused to be banished from his ears.
He shifted his gaze to his bedroom window, where a billion stars twinkled meekly in the ebony sky. His fatherÂ’s star wasnÂ’t visible now; it was too late in the night. Sighing sadly, Elrond flopped back onto his pillows and let his eyes glaze over again.
“You look terrible,” Maglor greeted the half-elf at breakfast, by means of conversation.
“Thank you so much for that assessment, Maglor,” Elrond muttered sarcastically.
But the elf had no doubts at all that he looked every bit as awful as he felt. He had barely been able to drag himself down to the dining hall in the first place; now he slumped in his chair, his chin resting on the table.
“I mean it,” the son of Fëanor continued. “What were you up to last night?”
“It’s nothing,” the half-elf replied. “I simply had a disturbing dream, which I would much sooner forget than repeat.”
Maglor nodded understandingly. “I’ve had my fair share of those.”
None like mine, IÂ’m sure, Elrond muttered to himself. I doubt youÂ’ve ever dreamt of your whole body unravelling like a dropped ball of yarn. But he said nothing.
The remainder of that day moved at far too slow a pace for ElrondÂ’s liking. The memory of the dream hung over his head like a thundercloud; he was almost scared to fall asleep that night. But exhaustion finally won over willpower, and he sank beneath the surface of the dark sea of oblivion.
He woke up the next morning surprisingly refreshed and cheerful; not quite as joyful as he had been in years past, but fairly close to. He didnÂ’t know why he was so happy all of a sudden. It had come to him out of the blue. But he chose not to question circumstance, and smiled all the way down to the dining hall.
“Well now, that’s much better.”
Maglor grinned as he rose to greet Elrond. The half-elf nodded as he took a seat next to his friend.
“I slept well last night, that’s all.”
“Well, it’s done you good,” the son of Fëanor commented. “You look excellent.”
Elrond sniffed in good-natured wit. “Right. Like one night of rest makes any difference.”
“Oh, but it does,” said another voice. The elves looked up to see Cirdan approaching, and moved slightly to give him room to sit.
“Good morning, Cirdan,” Elrond greeted him brightly. “How are you?”
“I’m just fine,” the shipwright replied, smiling. “Thank you.”
They were soon engaged in a cheerful conversation about nothing in particular, as often happens between good friends. When they ran out of recent topics to discuss, they relied on memories of their pasts.
“What was life like in Sirion?” Maglor inquired to Elrond.
The half-elf sighed, lost in reflection. What was it like? It had been the best four years of his life. He had had his parents, his brother, and a dear friend… but most of that was lost to him now, no more than memories. Eärendil and Elwing were gone; Caranel was slain. Only Elros remained – his dear little brother.
ElrondÂ’s lips parted as he prepared to speak, but found himself unexpectedly tongue-tied. He just couldnÂ’t find the words to say. Sighing soundlessly, he shut his mouth again as he tried to organize his mind.
Maglor nodded. “I understand. Some things are too precious to describe in mere words.”
Elrond agreed mutely, fighting to hold his tears at bay as four yearsÂ’ worth of bittersweet memories caught up with him. Maglor laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, and the elf quietly submitted to his grief.
Elrond sighed as he stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Lightning blazed across the sky, flashing through the room as rain pelted his window. The elf turned onto his side, closing his eyes as another bolt of light blinded him. This wasnÂ’t the first time he had fled to his bedroom in the middle of the day.
He sat up, scowling as the lit candle on his desk wobbled dangerously. It steadied itself a moment later, still glowing. Nodding, Elrond lay down again, gazing out of the window.
He sat up almost instantly a second time as something white flashed past his window; it wasnÂ’t lightning, surely. Elrond stared out into the wet, windy blackness, his pulse racing. Snatching up MandosÂ’ cloak, he put it on and rushed outside.
Icy rain poured down on him, entirely drenching him. Elrond relied on the staccato bursts of lightning to see where he was going.
Something suddenly caught his eye, something that didnÂ’t belong. The unmoving form of a woman lay slumped against a sturdy tree, apparently unconscious. Elrond hurried to her side, kneeling anxiously next to her.
A flash of lightning illuminated her face, and Elrond gasped in awe and horror.
“Lady Elwing!”
His mother stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering and opening. She blinked, focusing on his face, and smiled weakly as she spoke in a faint whisper.
“I knew I’d find you here, ion nin.” (my son)
