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The waves broke with a constant, gentle rhythm against the shore as dawn broke across the horizon. Two elves, a man and a woman, stood on the shore, the both of them surveying the sea before them. The man, his golden hair bound back in a sailor’s braid, wrapped his arm around the dark-haired woman. Both turned at the sound of footsteps approaching them and they stiffened when the saw the two other elves approaching. Each pair stood a little ways apart from the other, as if they were trying to ignore the other’s presence and focus instead on the approaching ship. Across the water on the deck of the ship, Elrond Half-elven leaned against the railing, his eyes fixed on the four figures drawing closer which each wave as his shoulders tensed and stomach twisted. It was impossible not to recognize them, especially when one of them had red hair and stood a head taller than the others. Manwë above, why were they all here? Galadriel had told him that time ran a different course in Valinor, but surely none of them were expecting to see the young elfling they had once known? He was a father of three grown child now, more likely than not a grandfather as well by now. Did they think they still knew him? A gentle hand pried one of his from the railing and Celebrían laced her fingers through his.
“When your mother sent word of the special dispensation the Valar granted, I should have realized they must have meant to do something like this.” She squeezed his hand. “Though the presence of my mother’s cousins is… unexpected.”
Elrond managed with some difficulty to pry his eyes from the shore and turned to his wife. He’d nearly thrown himself down from the ship when he saw her waiting on the quays of Tol Eressëa. Now though, the only emotion he was certain he felt at this approaching reunion was hesitation. “How long has Maedhros been released from the Halls?”
“It was only a short time ago, by the Valar’s reckoning. Maybe two hundred sun years? Maglor was here when I arrived.” Celebrían replied. “I haven’t seen much of Maedhros though; he’s kept to himself.”
“Somethings never change.” Elrond muttered and turned from the railing and his wife. The ship docked within the hour; Galadriel was the first onto the quay, nearly leaping across the walkway to tackle the two elves who could only be her parents. Celebrían squeezed Elrond’s hand again and gave him a little smile as she gently pulled him down the walkway.
“Grandfather, there is someone else you meet” she said when they reached the still-embracing group.
Finarfin released his daughter and turned to them, his smile the same as that his daughter and granddaughter had. “Welcome kinsman! Truly does a star shine upon the hour of our meeting; it gives joy to both myself and my wife to meet you at last!” But instead of the bow that would normally have followed such a greeting, Elrond found himself pulled into a tight embrace. After a moment, a woman laughed.
“Finarfin, enough! There are others more important who wish to greet him.” Eärwen said, laughing merrily with one arm still wrapped around her daughter. Finarfin did as he was bidden and Elrond looked up to see his parents for the first time in millennia.
“Adar. Emel.” His voice didn’t even sound like his own and Elrond was soon overwhelmed by the once familiar scents he’d thought long forgotten: his father’s saltwater and birchwood smell and the lilac and meadowsweet of his mother. For a moment, it was as if he were a child again. When the three of them finally released each other, they found themselves alone. His father spoke first.
“It is good to see you once more.” Eärendil let out a nervous laugh. “Well, I mean, like this. You know I would see you from the ship.”
Elrond nodded, not quite sure how to respond. The words just slipped out then, unbidden. “Why didn’t you come back? Before you went to Valinor, I mean. Why didn’t you come and save us?”
The waves made the only sound for a long while. “I thought the two of you were dead.” Elwing whispered. “When the Sons of Feänor sacked Doriath, they didn’t spare my brothers. Elured and Elurin were scarcely older than you and Elros were. I despaired- when I jumped, I didn’t even expect Ulmo to save me.” Tears spilled down her cheeks when she looked at him.
“We didn’t learn of your and Elros’ fate until we reached Aman.” Eärendil reached out and set a hand on his shoulder. “Elrond, if we had known, none of the Valar could have kept me from turning the ship around and fighting to get you back.”
Memory assailed him like a battering ram at a gate then. The smell of smoke had reached them first, and he and Elros had run up from the little sea cave where they had liked to play to find the houses and buildings of the Havens burning. There was a new scent in the air then, one Elrond later became all too familiar with: the coppery smell of blood. Elves were running and shouting, and Elros, big brother of three minutes that he was, had pulled him away from the oncoming mob and towards the direction of their own house. They had run, coughing as the air thickened with smoke, but their house stood untouched when they reached it.
“Emel!” his throat had stung as he cried for her. “Emel where are you?” A loud scream nearby made the two of them dash towards the stables to hide as the scream suddenly stopped. The twins had hidden behind a trough in an empty stall. There was more screaming, along with the sound of crashing and clanging.
“Is it orcs?” he’d whispered. Elros had said nothing. They both clung to each other, all the more tightly when the door of the stable slammed open. It wasn’t orc voices they’d heard then, but they didn’t recognize the Elvish they heard either. One voice said something and another answered and both boys tensed at the sound of footsteps walking among the stalls. His mother’s mare was half-wild with panic; one of the voices started murmuring softly to her. The second voice called out something. The stranger was nearly in front of them and Elrond could see it was a warrior, armored and helmed for battle. He screwed his eyes shut.
“I see you hiding there little ones.” The warrior. “Come out from there now. It isn’t safe to stay there.” Elrond opened his eyes to see that the warrior had knelt down at the front of the stall, though he was so tall that even kneeling his head cleared the railings. Blood and soot were smeared across his armor and Elrond saw a divet had been cut in his helm. Old scars marred the left side of face like a faint spider’s web that stretched into his scalp. His red hair was worn short, barely reaching his shoulders, and Elrond could feel his twin staring, with the awkward fascination only a child could have, at his missing right hand. The elf sighed exhaustedly.
“Maglor, you’d better come collect them. I’ll see to the horses.”
Elrond slid the scroll he’d been reading back into its case and set it on the shelf, smiling to himself as the sound of Celebrían singing as she wove carried in from their garden. It had been so long since he’d heard her singing, since she’d been happy enough to sing, that he’d almost forgotten the loveliness of it. He shut the great tome he had been recording notes in and went in search of libations to bring before joining her. A fortnight had passed since his arrival; his parents had returned north, promising to come a visit again at the next full moon. Their departure had not meant that Elrond was left alone though. Reunions, celebrations, and meetings had filled the days, to the point that he wishes he could use Bilbo’s excuse and plead the weariness of old age. This had been the first day in the past fortnight that his and Celebrían’s presence hadn’t been requested at some feast or another, and Elrond found the peace absolutely blissful. Glasses and wine bottle in hand, he made his way towards the garden. Celebrían had stopped singing; Elrond set the wine and glasses down when he heard her talking to someone, tensing at the slight anxiousness he heard in her voice. He was about to go out and voice her when the voice that answered Celebrían stopped him cold.
“Please, if you would just let him know I’ve come- I understand if you have no wish to speak to me.” Maedhros had never sounded like that before. Elrond took a step forward. “And if he has no wish to see me, I will not trouble either of you again.”
“I had thought you’d no wish to see me.” He said quietly as he entered the garden. Both Celebrían and his wife turned to him, with Celebrían offering him her hand, which he gratefully took. “You were hard to miss on the shore.”
A corner of Maedhros’ mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile. “I-I-I gave in to cowardice. Maglor wanted to stay, but I couldn’t.” his voice trailed off.
Celebrían kissed his cheek. “I had promised to meet with my grandmother this afternoon. Would you make sure my weaving comes in?” She gave his hand a squeeze, as if she could give him some of her strength, and then left the two of them alone.
An awkward silence fell over the garden, as if even the birds had stopped singing in order to eavesdrop. It was Maedhros who broke first.
“You look well Peredhel.”
“As do you.” Elrond nodded at his right hand. “I see you got that back.”
Maedhros let out a nervous laugh. “I did. If I’m being honest, I do miss the hand jokes a little.” He looked around and nodded at a nearby bench. “May I sit?”
Elrond nodded, taking his own seat on Celebrían’s vacated stool. “Cowardice might answer why you vanished on the shore, but is it also your excuse for why it has taken you so long to come see me?”
“Yes.” Maedhros’ face, free of the scars it had borne when Elrond had known him, was grief stricken. “I wronged you twice over Elrond.”
“You mean how you and Maglor left us without so much as a farewell when you went to steal the Silmarils back?” Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. He had held it for over six thousand years. Maedhros nodded.
“I couldn’t face either of you, especially after.” His left hand had clenched into a first, as though he still held the jewel that had burned him. “Apologies should come easily to me by now; it’s all I’ve been doing since Lord Namo released me. But this one is the hardest of them all.” Maedhros straightened. “I cannot make recompense for the years I took from you and your parents, nor for abandoning you after the war was done. But I ask for your forgiveness, undeserved as it is.”
Elrond could feel his throat tightening as he struggling not to be overcome by words he had never expected to hear.
It was Elros’ frantic shaking of his shoulder that woke him.
“Wha-” he blearily began, but his twin cut him off.
“They’re gone. Maedhros and Maglor. I went to their tent and they’re gone.”
Elrond was out of his bedroll in an instant, scrambling to find and pull on his boots. A horrified struck him like a blow in that instant. He looked up at his brother and saw that the same thought had hit Elros as well. “You don’t think they would try to…?” his voice trailed off.
The twins were sprinting out of their tent in a flash. It hadn’t been difficult to find the crowd; they’d heard its roar long before they saw it. The two of them struggled to push their way through it, calling out for Maedhros and Maglor as they did, but their voices were lost among the angry shouts of the elves around them. Elrond caught only the briefest glimpse of Maedhros holding the crowd back at sword point. There was a madness in his eyes that Elrond didn’t recognize. He fell back, with only Elros’ quick reflexes saving him from being trampled. Both twins felt hands grab on to their shoulders and start to pull them back out of the crowd. They both turned back and saw it was Gil-Galad.
“They two of you are going to get yourselves killed! Eönwë’s doing his best to keep it from turning into a mob, but the crowd is in a fury.” He hauled the twins backwards even as they protested and struggled to break free.
The sudden press of memory faded. Elrond got to his feet, with Maedhros doing the same. But where Maedhros expected him to turn and leave, Elrond didn’t. Instead, he crossed the few paces between then and embraced Maedhros tightly; the older elf stiffened a little, shocked by the unexpected reaction at first, but quickly relaxed.
“You’ve had it for an age of the earth already.”
Celebrían returned sometime later and found the two of them, along with her weaving, still in the garden. With a quiet smile, she turned to see that another place was laid at their table that evening.
Maglor ran his fingers along the sun warmed wood of the harp, feeling the familiar itch in his fingers to touch the strings.
“You can play it if you wish. It was yours after all.” Elrond finally said, having watched the other elf for a few minutes. When Erestor had brought word that Maglor had arrived and asked to see him, Elrond hadn’t been surprised, not after Maedhros’ visit the day before. He walked into the solar. “When Finrod saw that I had it, he invited me to perform a duet. I fear I have been remiss in my practice though.”
Maglor smiled. “It is understandable, considering all that you’ve been up to. I did hear about your Hall of Fire though.”
Elrond let out a little laugh. “Well, you were the one who said that you’d build a hall where people could sing, tell stories, or just sit and listen if that’s what they liked best.” He motioned to two nearby chairs. “Would you like something to drink?”
They both sat down, Elrond pouring both of them a glass of cordial. There was an awkward silence for a few moments. Maglor final broke it.
“Are you tired of apologies yet or could you endure one more? Those thousands of years after the War of Wrath, I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
Elrond turned his glass in his hands; he agreed, but didn’t have the heart to say so. When the first reports of sightings of the lone elf wandering the shores, he’d still had Elros. But when his brother had died and Maglor still hadn’t come…the pain of it, of the loss redoubled. “It is in the past.”
Maglor grimaced. “It may be, but that doesn’t make it disappear either.”
“What happened? After the Arwen was born, there were no longer any sightings of you.”
“I felt the call of Mandos and followed it. The grief and pain had grown too great by then and I was little more than a broken husk. I couldn’t even sing.”
Both turned at a gentle rap at the doorway; Celebrían stood there, smiling. “Erestor told me you had come to visit.
Somewhat to Elrond’s surprise, a wide smile broke across Maglor’s face. “A star shine upon you kinswoman.” He said as the two of them embraced. “It has given me joy to know that you have your beloved with you once more.”
Celebrían smiled at the question clearly written on Elrond’s face. “When I first arrived in Aman, I was allowed to spend some time in the Gardens of Este and Lorien. Maglor came to visit me there. Lord Namo had sent you, if I recall correctly?”
Maglor nodded, a little sheepishly. “As a way to make amends for my wrongdoings. But it soon became a task done for friendship.”
“Though why it has taken a friend so long to come and visit, I know not.” Celebrían said, her arms crossed before her as they always were when someone was about to vex her. “Still, you are here now.”
That evening, once Maglor had left and the house had settled itself for the night, Elrond found his wife out on the balcony of their bedroom.
“So Maglor came to see you when you first came here?” he began, hoping that the presence of privacy would result in answers to the questions he had not asked earlier.
She turned to him, taking his hand and pulling him down towards the bench beside her. “He did. You, well, you know what state I was in when I took ship. The guilt I felt for leaving you and the children did not help either, and I became angry with myself for it. Everyone here was so pitying, so ready to console me, that I couldn’t stand it.” She sighed. “Maglor was the first one who didn’t treat me like I was some broken thing needing to be mended. He’d come to the gardens and just play his harp. Sometimes we would speak to one another, sometimes just enjoy the peace and quiet. He didn’t pity me, or at least he didn’t to my face. We’d speak of you sometimes,” Celebrían smiled at him, “and how much we both missed you.”
Elrond didn’t say anything at first. When their sons had brought Celebrían back to Rivendell, he’d blamed himself for her suffering, blame which had only deepened into feelings of failure when she come to him one night a year after the attack and told him she desired to sail West. That his foster-father had been able to help his wife when had had not…he’d thought to be annoyed by this, but he wasn’t. Elrond kissed Celebrían, wrapping his arm around her as they both turned their faces up to watch the stars.
Elrond and Celebrían walked slowly into Lord Lorien’s courtyard, both of them unsure as to why the Lord of Dreams had summoned them. The Vala was not alone; Galadriel was there, as was Elwing, and both of their mothers looked just as puzzled as their children. Lord Lorien stepped out towards the approaching Elves, smiling warmly at all of them. Despite the Lord of Dreams being as kind and warm as his brother was cold and grim, Elrond still found him to be rather unsettling.
“Welcome, both of you. Forgive the suddenness of the summons, all of you, but this is how these things are.”
“What things, my lord?” Elrond asked, feeling Celebrían’s palm begin to grow sweaty. She had questioned the messenger, or at least tried to, when the summons had come, but not even a hint of an answer had been forthcoming.
Lord Lorien smiled. “You’ll see. Come.” He led them into another courtyard, this one covered with a roof of hanging wisteria. Lady Este stood waiting for them beside a stone plinth that reminded Elrond of a larger version of the mirror Galadriel had in her garden in Lothlorien. “The water is a gift from Lord Ulmo.” Lord Lorien explained.
“And yes, young peredhel, it is similar in concept to Artanis’ own water mirror.” Lady Este added. She smiled at them and gestured to the mirror. “We thought you might wish to see this.”
Elrond and Celebrían drew closer. The water rippled a little and then stilled as a scene took form within it.
“Where?” Celebrían whispered, but Elrond recognized the place almost at once.
“Minas Arnor.” He answered, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the two beloved figures in the water.
Celebrían’s voice choked. “Arwen!” her fingers reached out to the water, but it didn’t ripple. “Is that Aragorn?”
Elrond’s throat tightened. “Yes.” Aragorn and Arwen were alone, the two of them curled up on a bed and watching the bundle in Arwen’s arms with such joy that Elrond knew in an instant why they had been summoned.
“What should we call him?” Aragorn asked, one arm around his wife, the other gently caressing the head of his son.
“There is your family’s tradition.” Arwen said, grinning mischievously at him.
Aragorn laughed. “What, name him something starting with Ar-? I would much rather honor his mother’s kin.” He picked up a small silver rattle and gently shook it before the baby’s face. “What about Eldarion?”
Arwen watched her son for a moment and then nodded. “Eldarion.” The baby let out a happy gurgle, eliciting a laugh from her. “Well, that’s settled then!” In the distance, the pealing of the great silver bells in the Tower of Ecthelion rang out, announcing to the entire city the birth of the prince.
Elrond looked up at met Lord Lorien’s gaze. “Thank you, my lord. This is a gift that was unlooked for and unexpected.”
The Vala smiled. “Your family has walked a hard road peredhel, with choices that few have ever had to make, much less had the strength to. What there is in my power to ease that road, I will do.” The corner of his mouth twitched a little as Celebrían pulled her mother and his in to see their great-grandchild. “And my brother has agreed to look the other way.”
That surprised Elrond. “Forgive me, I had not thought Lord Namo would be willing to do that.”
“No laws or decrees of Manwe are technically being broken, so he has other things to occupy himself with.” Lord Lorien replied with a shrug.
“In any case, again, my wife and I thank you.”
“Elrond, look!” he turned as Celebrían called out to him. “He’s smiling!”
Maedhros came hurtling into the library at a run.
“Elrond, Celebrían, come quickly! A ship’s been sighted coming into the harbor. Your mother says you will want to greet those on board.” He said to Celebrían, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried and failed to keep the grin from spreading across his face. “Come!”
They hurried out after him and found that horses had already been brought out. “It would take too long to walk and Galadriel said she would meet us on the road.” Maedhros offered as explanation.
Elrond nodded; his heart beating too quickly to manage speech of any sort. A single look at his wife told him that Celebrían’s mind held the same thought as his: only one person would have elicited such an urgency from Galadriel. The three of them galloped from the house and towards the harbor, seabirds soaring overhead like faithful guides. Galadriel met them at a crossroads, her face beaming.
“Your father has come.” She told her daughter. They turned their horses over to a waiting elf outside the harbor walls and made their way towards the quay on foot, reaching the dock just as the first mooring line was being fastened. The walkway was lowered and Celeborn stepped down, his eyes searching the gathered heads until he saw her. Elrond watched as Galadriel rushed up the walkway, throwing her arms around Celeborn with such force that it nearly sent them both toppling backwards onto the deck of the ship. Laughing Celeborn regained his balance, said something to Galdriel and then turned, speaking to someone just out of Elrond’s sight. Celebrían let out a cry as the two familiar faces appeared at the top of the walkway, side by side as they had been their entire lives. He wasn’t aware of when he had started walking forward; all Elrond could recall was the twins and their mother embracing in a heap on the quay and then his arms around them all as everyone one of them wept tears of joy.
The feast hall of their home was merry that night. Elrond smiled as he watched Maedhros engaged an awestruck Elrohir in conversation while Celeborn struggled not to laugh at the look on his grandson’s face. Maglor sat the by the fireplace playing one of Bilbo’s poems that Finrod had set to music earlier that week. Elladan sat with his mother and Elwing; Elrond’s heart tightened a little as he saw that Celebrían still held their son’s hand, as if she feared this moment were part of a soon-to-end dream. He rose from his chair and walked over to them.
“Tell me, how is Arwen? And Aragorn as well.”
Elladan leaned over the armrest of his chair. “Elrohir!” he called out. “Where did Arwen’s box get put?”
Elrohir turned away from his conversation. “My room I think. I’ll go fetch it.”
Elladan turned back to his father and mother, though the attention of everyone in the hall was on him. “They are both well. Both the North Kingdom and the South prosper; Aragorn’s even added some territory to Gondor’s borders. And as you’d expect, Arwen’s the beloved queen. Between commissions from her and the Prince of Ithilien’s wife, the city’s gardeners and artisans are well-paid and Minas Tirith shines once more.”
“Here it is!” Elrohir called, diverting everyone’s attention. “From Arwen and Aragorn, with much love.” He set down a wooden chest before his parents.
Celebrían opened the chest and smiled, her eyes brimming with tears as she pulled out the folded letter that had been placed atop the rest of the chest’s contents. Elrond recognized the curling swoops of his daughter’s hand at once, even before Celebrían began to read her missive.
Dearest Ada and Emig,
Elladan and Elrohir promised that they would see this delivered to your hands “come Valar’s ire or troubled seas”. I do hope it does not come to that.
As happy as I am in my choice- and truly, I am-, when my brothers told me of their decision, I could not let them sail West without one last chance to tell you both how much I love you. And neither could your grandchildren; Eldarion and Estelien, our two oldest, have written letters as well, while Anariel and Ithilwen had Aragorn and I write down their words. Eleniel, our youngest, is not much of a writer yet, so she drew you both a picture.
Aragorn has also included his own letter to you both; Emig, I wish you could have met him, but I know that Ada will have told you everything already. And probably more…
Celebrían’s voice trailed off as she choked on tears. Elrond took the letter from her. “We’ll finish it later.” He whispered, kissing her cheek. She nodded and turned to uncovering the rest of the chest.
“Eldarion takes after Aragorn, though he isn’t as reckless as Estel was at his age. Estelien’s nearly the spitting image of her mother. And nearly as stubborn.” Elladan announced. “When we were in Minas Tirith to say our farewells, she had finally managed to wear Aragorn down into letting her learn to ride a warhorse.”
Galadriel came over to inspect the chest more closely. “She is battle-minded?”
Elladan shook his head. “Not really. No, she simply wanted to learn and didn’t see any reason why she should not. She’s more interested by old lore and healing, like Ada.”
That warmed Elrond’s heart and Celebrían handed him a letter marked Haru and Haruni that he was certain his eldest granddaughter had written. She next took out a child’s drawing of the artist, some flowers, and what looked like a dog.
“Eleniel told us to tell you that it’s supposed to be here, her favorite flower, and Huan- a stray puppy Eldarion and Estelien brought home a last spring.” Elrohir explained
“How old are they now?” Elrond asked.
Elrohir thought a moment. “Eldarion’s fourteen, Estelien twelve, the twins eight, and Eleniel is six.” He grinned. “Their parents have their hands full, that’s for certain.”
Elrond smiled at the thought and then reached down into the chest to take out the final parcel, a sail-cloth wrapped square. Celebrían undid the wrappings, which fell away to reveal a portrait of these seven dearest ones. Aragorn and Arwen had forgone any royal raiment, as did the children; all were dressed simply. Elrond was about to ask his sons which twin in the portrait was which before he noticed the elanor flowers embroidered on one girl’s dress and niphredil flowers on the other’s.
“A little sun and moon.” Elwing said, sharing a smile with Galadriel. She nodded at the painting. “The oldest girl looks like you Elrond.”
It was true; in as much as Arwen took after him, so too did her eldest daughter take after her mother. The same twilight-dark hair, the same storm-grey eyes, the same chin even. Looking closer, Elrond gave a little laugh as he caught sight of the book Estelien held in her hand. “No doubt she will be a great lore-mistress.” His eyes travelled over the rest of the figures; Aragorn still looked like his Estel, Arwen as beautiful as he would always remember her. Eldarion looked as though he were trying to appear solemn; he seemed to have inherited his features from both parents rather than one alone. The youngest child sat on the floor before Arwen, clutching onto a shaggy dog the color of sand. Never before had Elrond felt anything close to regret for sailing West, yet he came close in this moment.
“Bitter indeed is the choice of Luthien.” He murmured. Celebrían squeezed his shoulder gently. Turning to his wife, he added, “But also sweet. Our daughter is happy in her life and what parent could ask for more?”
She kissed his cheek. “And our love grows the greater for being mingled with grief. Iluvatar willing, one day we shall all meet again when Arda is remade.”