Fading Away by Ireth_Telrunya
“It’s just down here,” Elrond I called over his shoulder as he reached the grassy brow of a tall hill. “Is everyone all right back there?”
A general chorus of affirmative shouts rose from the throng of elves that Elrond I and II were leading. The elder half-elf glanced down at his godson with a small smile. “They’ll be your people from now on.”
“Mine?” Elrond II exclaimed softly in surprise.
“Yes indeed,” Elrond I smiled. “You shall be the ruler of this valley’s haven: Rivendell, or Imladris.” He extended a hand to indicate what lay below the lip of the ridge on which they stood.
Elrond II gasped in awe. The dale was a mottled green carpet stretching on and on below, with a glittering silver-blue river snaking through it like a discarded ribbon. The rumbling song of a waterfall echoed in their ears.
“It’s beautiful,” the younger half-elf breathed. “It’s perfect!”
Elrond I nodded serenely. “It’s home.”
Soon afterward, the cityÂ’s construction commenced. It was an incredibly demanding task, but everyone pulled his or her weight, and the job was made that much more trouble-free. Whitish-colored stone was gathered from a quarry south of the building site, and brought out by willing hands.
The structures took quite some time to complete and furnish. Much to Elrond’s chagrin, a large number of trees were felled to provide wood for tables, chairs and other such things. But it couldn’t be helped. Some things were unavoidable. It would be like trying to keep the sun from rising – impossible, except to the Valar.
Everyone took a long while to adjust to their new lifestyle. Elrond I quite often confused the truths of his current existence with those of his past life, and committed such blunders as mistaking Celebrimbor for a clean-shaven Cirdan, which resulted in an onslaught of terrible memories for them both. The jewelsmith was extremely compassionate, and acted quickly to comfort his friend whenever this occurred.
The elves who had formerly resided in Eregion gladly accepted Elrond II as their leader. He was shaping up to be a wise and kindhearted lord, incredibly mild and young at heart. Elrond I couldnÂ’t help but weep when he considered what the future would hold in store. Others than Morgoth would no doubt seek to steal what he held dear.
Elrond I sighed as he trod the cool stone halls of the haven, his mind wandering through a memory. The light of noon, the sounds of elven merriment and the caress of the wind all passed unheeded. Words that had been spoken many weeks ago now floated through his mind, as brightly and clearly as if they had just been utteredÂ…
“Elrond?”
“Hello, Maglor. Is there something I can do for you?”
Fëanor’s son nodded nervously. “Actually, yes. I was just thinking about… about what happened to Cirdan. When I was watching Lord Mandos take his soul, I instantly began to think about you and your friend, the young elleth who was killed in my house…”
Elrond I sighed sorrowfully. “Caranel.”
“That’s it. I was just thinking… did you watch Caranel’s soul depart?”
“Yes.”
Maglor nodded. “I supposed as much. Did Lord Mandos let her speak to you at all when she was dead?”
Elrond affirmed that, fighting back tears. “Yes. She thanked me for what I’d done for her while she was alive.”
“Cirdan spoke to me, too,” Maglor murmured. “He asked me never to forget him, and he told me that he wanted to be set adrift down the river after his funeral. That’s the reason I suggested it then.”
“I didn’t know.” The half-elf’s voice was low and awed.
Maglor nodded. “I never thought something like that would happen. When I was – well, before I was redeemed – I just killed without second thoughts. I never considered that the people I slew were people, not just nameless faces. I’d get rid of anyone who stood in my way, and Lord Mandos would clean up after me. Those were my only thoughts back then.
“But things are different these days. I’m not like that anymore, especially not after that morning. I’ve changed far more than you can imagine. I never once thought that I could be so transformed. I thought my fate was carved in stone.”
Elrond I was silent. Those were extremely close to his own thoughts. He had expected his second life to be the same as the first – how wrong he had been! Now he had the Valar’s guardianship against Morgoth and his servants, and a life-altering disaster had occurred almost a hundred years before it was supposed to!
To top it all off, he was now the bearer of a totally different Ring of Power than he once had been. Vilya had once been his; now he was the keeper of Narya. That all had to mean something, didnÂ’t it? Surely these events werenÂ’t just thrown upon him at random!
“What is it?” Maglor asked, noticing the perplexed look on his friend’s face.
The half-elf shook his head dismissively, his face relaxing. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
A hand coming to rest upon his shoulder brought Elrond gradually out of his reverie. He glanced up, meeting the gaze of the person who had just been in his memories. MaglorÂ’s eyes were alight with concern and confusion.
“Are you all right?” he asked carefully.
“I’m fine.” Elrond I echoed his thoughts. “Why?”
“You looked puzzled about something.”
“Did I?”
Maglor nodded. “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”
The half-elf shook his head carefully. “No, thank you. I’m all right.”
“If you’re sure.”
Elrond I said nothing. Maglor frowned slightly, but shrugged in defeat. “All right, I won’t push you.”
Thank you, Elrond thought. He was in no mood to be pushed or prodded to do anything.
But as Maglor turned to walk away, the half-elf called after him. “Wait.”
“Yes?” His friend looked back at him, lifting an eyebrow questioningly.
Elrond I started to say something, but found that the words he had so wanted to utter had evaporated from his tongue. He sighed, muttering to his knees instead. “Never mind.”
Maglor glanced uneasily over his shoulder as he brushed past the half-elf, walking away in the other direction. He was convinced that his friend was hiding something from him. Some secrets, he assured himself, were perfectly fine to keep concealed. But he had seen clearly in ElrondÂ’s eyes that this particular mystery was hurting him somehow, piercing him deeply.
Maglor hated to watch anyone in anguish, especially when they were being tormented so silently. As if they had long since learned not to scream or to cry out, because such things were considered symptoms of weaknessÂ’ incurable infection. But Maglor knew far better than that. Weakness was not illness; its degree was not shown by the ability to feel pain, or not to. Strength did not lie only in silent acceptance.
The son of Fëanor sighed, halting abruptly and turning on his heel to pace down another corridor. If Elrond didn’t want to open up right away, that was fine with him. But it didn’t change his mind. Maybe all that the half-elf needed was some time to himself, and maybe a bit of gentle persuasion. But mostly time.
As the years flew on, Elrond I grew more and more anxious, in spite of the peace that was blossoming around Imladris. He recognized the developing pattern in Morgoth’s attacks – the assaults were very spaced out, with several hundred years between each of them – but that wasn’t the first thing on his mind at the moment. The half-elf couldn’t help but worry about how recent events would alter the world he knew.
Cirdan, for example. The shipwright had been much more than a dear friend. In ElrondÂ’s past, he had built a great number of ships for the Eldar to sail in to Valinor, including the very last, in which he himself had journeyed. Now, that reality was splintered like broken glass. Who would take his place? Who could?
Elrond I sighed sorrowfully as a tear slipped down his face. Even after so many decades, he had never quite recuperated from his comradeÂ’s passing. How could he, with Narya as a constant reminder of that terrible morning?
Immediately his thoughts drifted to Mandos. The Vala forgot nothing that had ever taken place, nor would he lose track of what had yet to take place. Surely he was burdened by the sorrows of the world, now that emotions had been shown to him? It would be far too much for only Nienna to bear, wouldnÂ’t it?
WouldnÂ’t it?
Mandos flew invisibly through the sun-dappled corridors of Imladris, ignoring the bright-hued leaves that occasionally blew right through his hovering, incorporeal spirit. He was lost in his thoughts, roaming the halls of his memory even as he drifted through the elvesÂ’ haven.
He remembered everything; all that had happened since the first instant of Creation. He saw everything; all that was taking place everywhere in the world. He knew everything; all that would ever occur. Nothing escaped his mind. Nothing.
Oh, how he wished that it could.
Of all the things that it was possible to long for, the Doomsman most desired the ability to forget. He yearned to be able to push thoughts away and take no notice of them. Only recently had this craving manifested itselfÂ… this insatiable hunger.
He let his mind filter back through sixteen centuries, and unearthed a conversation that had transpired in the hours before a vast tragedy. It was a conversation between Mandos and his own Creator, Eru.
The Father of All had warned – reminded – the Doomsman of Morgoth’s plot to attack Elrond. Mandos had had intense doubts; he had contemplated the unthinkable, direct disobedience of his Master. But he had quickly repented, and Eru had gladly granted him forgiveness.
And in the present, the Vala was questioning things again. He knew full well that Eru had granted the knowledge of all things to him alone. But Eru must have known something he did not. Eru must have decided to reveal emotions to him, for some reasonÂ… Why?
Perhaps he had yet to find out.
Celebrimbor couldnÂ’t stop thinking about that long-ago, life-shattering morning in what had once been known as Eregion. Sauron had waged war on him; quite some time earlier than expected, if the words of Elrond the First were anything to go by. His home, the only one he had ever known, had been reduced to rubble in no less than twenty minutes. And a dear friend of the uncle he had never known had been killed.
Though he hadnÂ’t felt the loss as deeply as some, he knew CirdanÂ’s death to be an utterly unforeseen tragedy. A barrage of thoughts beat a tattoo in his head; relentless, undeniable condemnations.
Sauron was there for you alone. You should have been the one to die, not the shipwright. You donÂ’t deserve to live.
Was that true? Celebrimbor wondered, his heart fluttering. Had Cirdan perished willingly in his stead? Had some secret sacrifice been fulfilled within the ring of fire? The barter of one life for another?
If it was a sacrifice, the jewelsmith thought, I will not let it be in vain.
