In the land of Valinor, Elrond meets someone believed long lost to him.

Rating:  PG-13 to NC-17

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Part Seven:

"Indeed?" Elrond turned to eye the shipwright intently, wondering what had prompted the potentially concerning statement.

"Oh, be not alarmed," Celebrían said with a laugh, though even her humour sounded quicker and higher than usual. "It is naught ill, at least," she added, looping a strand of hair behind her ear and touching her lips. "We hope it will not seem so to you."

"Pray then end my suspense," Elrond said, smiling at his wife's uncharacteristic uncertainty. "Tell me and I shall be the judge."

"It is your judgement we apprehensively await," Cirdan murmured.

Puzzled by the equal measures of discomfort both his old friend and his wife were projecting, Elrond urgently encouraged them to speak on, watching their anxious faces and wondering at their shared glances.

"Husband mine," Celebrían said, stopping then and taking his hands in hers, leaving him barely a moment to eye her confusedly at the term of her address. "I came in search of you to ask permission to relinquish the partner of that title with which I named you. When first you came to these shores now nearly a year and a half ago we spoke for many hours and concluded that we should not re-consummate our marital vows for reasons each our own. Forgive me that I did not tell you then of the growth of my affections toward an elf you have long named your trusted friend. I assure you it was not that which swayed my heart from you, for I was dearly glad to see you again and had thought that I would welcome you into bosom and bed. I fear though that I shall never be able to do so, for I am not as I once was. Nor did you lead me to believe that you could do so. Tell me plain if this is not so. But I entreat you instead to allow me to pursue a new course and take the love offered to me by Cirdan."

Elrond listened to her words and for an instant failed to truly register them. Absurdly, for he had no more desire of her love now than he had in the years that preceded their marriage, he winced at the sting her lightly loosed arrows inflicted upon his heart. He had loved her once and final closing of that chapter in his life brought a pang to his heart. Despite this a smile involuntarily lit upon his lips and he raised a hand to touch her cheek with his fingertips. Celebrían watched him, her azure eyes wide with suspense.

"Of course I will," he said gently. Turning to include Cirdan in his smile and his blessing, Elrond continued: "I am glad you have found such solace, Celebrían. I would happily witness the healing of your heart in the love of one I hold as a dear and trusted companion. I surrender all claims to your vows, not for lack of care, but to delight in your new contentment, which I am ill qualified to offer you. Go to," he scolded them kindly. "Trouble yourself not with my company!"

Cirdan took the hand of Celebrían then and reached to grip Elrond in a warrior's clasp, with hand fisted about the left upper arm. Elrond returned the embrace and kissed Celebrian's soft cheek lightly. Then taking his leave of the smiling couple, he went in search of one even more dear to him.

Ereinion was not in any of the locations in which Elrond hoped to find him, the stables, the beach, his chambers, nor even, for Elrond returned there in his search, the secret ledge atop the cliff where Ereinion had hidden from him after their first meeting on the shores. He finally acknowledged defeat and returned to the house intending to head, as was his habit, for the library. It was there that he came upon Ardís sitting on the front steps and sharpening a wicked-looking dirk.

She looked up at his approach and then down again at her blade, polishing it slowly and methodically. Elrond paused, caught by her manner. After a moment she looked up again, her green eyes narrowed into slits.

"You have upset him," she said accusingly.

"I know," Elrond replied, knowing that it could only be Ereinion she referred to.

She nodded, running her thumb along the sharp edge of the blade and raising a thin, crimson line.

"Ow."

She pulled a face and then sucked the blood from the digit, a chillingly un-childlike gesture belonging to her previous life. Then she glanced up again, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand.

"Do not do it again," she said and wordlessly pointed in the direction of Ereinion's whereabouts.

Suppressing a shiver, Elrond hurried in the indicated direction.

Pushing open the library door, Elrond paused for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Only a few errant beams of sunlight strayed between the shelves, lest the books grow faded by the strong golden touch. Ereinion was leaning against one of the foremost shelves, a book propped open in one hand, the other turning a page. He looked up as Elrond entered, his expression changing from simple alertness to a distinctly less friendly gaze. He nodded coolly and then returned his gaze to the text before him.

Elrond closed the main doors and moved to the shelves, locating and collecting the text he had been seeking, before he crossed to Ereinion.

"May I intrude?"

"I am studying," Ereinion replied, his manner cold.

"Oh?" Elrond said cautiously. "What...?"

"The book is on archery. No, I have never fired a bow before. It is written by an elf I have never heard of and I do not understand a word of his writings," Ereinion interrupted curtly. He looked up at last, his features implacable. "I hope that will spare you the unnecessary questions you might ask before you reach your point."

"For sparing me the trouble of tiptoeing about I shall be forever grateful to you," Elrond answered with a mocking bow and noted the grudging smile with which his repartee was greeted.

"My apologies," Ereinion said, with far more sincerity than his earlier and rather forced contrition had held. He laid his book aside and gave Elrond his attention.

"Accepted," Elrond said with a nod. "And I would offer you mine. You are not a fool and I did not intend to treat you as one. If you will hear me though, I would like to continue our curtailed discourse. I do not promise to surrender to your wishes, but I would like you at least to understand where I stand."

Ereinion nodded and without preamble coiled himself down onto the floor of the library, his back against the shelves. With a teasing grumble at the strangeness of youth, Elrond knelt before him.

"Ereinion, I promised you, yesterday no less, that I would help you try to regain your life in full. I do not intend to retract that and I gave you my word, which is not something I would have you take lightly. I did not intend to lie to you." Elrond sighed, reflecting that his deflections had been headed that way, despite his intentions. "Even by omission," he concluded. "I need you to understand that your situation, while not unique, is unusual, and I find myself as out of depth as you feel. I am not trying to censor what you know, but I do not want you to regret choosing to seek out your history. Once something is done it cannot be undone and I would rather have you take the time to grow accustomed to your history than have you wish that you had not learned of it. Also, woven into your history is a great deal of mine, some of which I am reluctant to speak of for my own sake. Can you have patience enough with me to bear this?"

The younger elf nodded, his sapphire eyes dark in the dimly lit library. "I am sorry," he said again. "It was selfish of me earlier. I did not think of that." He sighed. "But please do not try to hide things from me. I do not like it."

"I will hide nothing without a reason," Elrond said firmly.

But at this Ereinion stubbornly shook his head. "No, just do not hide things from me."

Elrond briefly indulged in a moment of amazement at the difference between Ereinion speaking to him now and the playful child of the morning.

"I would suggest that some concealment is inevitable," a voice from the far end of the library replied and both elves lifted their heads to witness the previously unnoticed presence of Glorfindel. The elder elf was reclining upon one of the marbled benches beneath the high arched windows that bathed a strip of the library, clear of the books, in light bright enough to read. The beams poured over Glorfindel until his skin glowed translucently pale, his flaxen-hair a platinum fall around his sun-blessed features. His clothing was paled in the brightness, silver and ivory against his radiant skin.

"Forgive my interruption, Elrond, Ereinion, but I do at least believe I am qualified to do so." He rose, laying aside his book and moved to stand above them, the light touching a halo of his braids with whiteness, while the rest of his hair fell in golden waves to his waist. He unconsciously echoed both Elrond and Cirdan as he continued. "Not only will the recollections of those who would talk with you differ, but they will differ in time from your own memories as you recover them. And though it is vital that you come to learn of all that you experienced, there will be some things that you should be shielded from, at least until you are older."

Annoyance flickered across Ereinion's face again. "So it is the will of others to tell me of a life I should rightly remember myself? Ah, by the Lady's name, I hate this! I hate that people know more about me than I do and I hate being protected like a child!"

"Sometimes," Elrond said softly. "The one we most need protection from is oneself." He smiled ruefully at the truth in the words, thinking of the countless times he had cursed himself more soundly than any other over a fault, or dwelt in his misery or guilt without need, or, in more impetuous youth, put himself at risk needlessly.

"It is because people know more of you than you do yourself that they are right to judge that some aspects of your past you will be too young to deal with," Glorfindel added. "It would be wise to place trust in them and forbear."

Ereinion hissed in frustration. "It is easy enough for you to say it," he growled. "But you cannot know how hard this is."

"I know far better than most, Ereinion," Glorfindel dropped to one knee and on eye level intently regarded the youngster. "I have both lived and died and lived again to attain the years I now hold. I tell you from my own experiences that it is not well to learn too much too soon and wiser to tolerate the frustrations than it is to regret the loss of ignorance. Enjoy the youth you now possess and think but a little upon the other ages until the time is right."

He rose then and, quietly collecting his book, departed from the library.

Astonished, Ereinion turned to gape at Elrond and the older elf smiled sympathetically, nodding to confirm Glorfindel's words for the youngster. "One day you must ask Glorfindel of Gondolin, for he will undoubtedly share his tale," Elrond said.

"I... I did not know," Ereinion said, honestly startled by the revelation.

Not in this life anyway, Elrond mentally added, and then smiled at the younger elf.  "He did not expect you too," he replied reassuringly. "But he speaks with more authority than Cirdan or I can hope to and you may find it helpful to talk with him."

Ereinion's response however, was decidedly non-committal and he rose rather quickly.  "Perhaps I will, though I think not this day."

It was only as Elrond too stood, collecting the text Ereinion had casually abandoned upon the floor that he thought to wonder what Ereinion's reason for coming to the library had been. For the disregarded book had held no interest for him and he had plainly not been talking to the only other elf present, Glorfindel. With a wry smile, Elrond slotted the book back onto the shelf and stood then too. Ereinion had moved to the window and now stood staring out across the landscape. The golden beams of the sun made even the black of his hair reflect the light like a platinum mirror, ebony to ivory bleached by the consecrating touch.

It could be no coincidence that Ereinion had chosen Elrond's favoured place of retreat above his own. Prudence advised him against voicing his theory, but Elrond was reassured by the discovery that Ereinion was as reluctant to be at odds with him as he himself had been discomfited by it. Their re-acquaintance detailed only the course of a little more than a year, and for most of that time they had been apart. Yet in the space of a few days they had grown swiftly accustomed to one another, old bonds beginning to cautiously reform. Elrond kept his distance for a few moments, just watching the younger elf.

In their former love this was a portion of Ereinion's life of which he had never been a part, for it was he who had been youthful in years when they met then. Gil-galad had already been shaped by his experiences and grown into the robust, decided elf-lord to whom Elrond had lost his heart and soul. Now it was he who stood in that lofty position and he wondered at the consequences of a differing childhoods. Already he had seen enough of the younger elf to witness a great many behavioural parallels in him. His natural disposition was strong and courageous, his determination, spirit and inborn assurance noticeable still. The quirky humour Elrond had dearly valued was more pronounced, as was, interestingly enough, the pride of Ereinion.

The former Elrond smiled upon for it was a great joy to see and instead of merely a candle lit to raise spirits in a time of darkness, a simple thing to take pleasure in. The latter Elrond suspected was an effect of being raised with Oropher, for the competition between them was already apparent; he had witnessed it so while observing the children at play. Their former dislike of each other had surfaced early and neither had liked to be humiliated before the other. In the previous ages it had held true, Oropher often exploiting this for malicious pleasure at seeing the High King lose face. Gil-galad too to an extent had disparaged the King of Mirkwood or disregarded him to the insult of the Sindarin elf.

Ereinion's temper, though not quick, was as heated as ever and less restrained for his experience was lacking. His alertness had already caused Celebrían to stumble, allowing him to see the book that had led him to his current awareness, and Elrond too had failed to disguise matters from Ereinion. And he was certainly as direct as ever, where he felt that caginess and circumspection were unnecessary.

Yet despite all this the circumstances were inescapably changed and that could not but help to influence the youngster's growth. That Cirdan had assumed once more the role of mentor to the orphaned child was a great relief to Elrond's mind, for there was no other who so well understood Ereinion save Elrond himself. It was also a consistency in a different world than the one that had existed through the first and second ages. Yet the aim was not to raise Ereinion as the same person he had once been, not to the letter, though the spirit was the same. But had he been unrecognisably altered, Elrond did not know what then he would have done. Glad in heart that he had not been forced to suffer a stranger in the guise of his dearest love, Elrond firmly steered himself from such pensive perambulations and moved to join the child at the window.

Part Eight:

Over the course of the subsequent weeks, Elrond found that most of his time was engaged with Ereinion. The younger elf sought him frequently during any hour of the day and often it was merely to socially talk or to ride. He was inclined to absent himself from even his expected duties, such as weapon's practices or other similar occupations, until in self-defence, for Cirdan grew fairly stern about such habits, Elrond joined forces with Glorfindel to educate some of the youngsters and thereby put a stop to the truancy. As the weather grew better, the winds lessening without the winter turns, Elrond chose to school the younger elves in archery and his own recent brush-up on the necessary skills proved invaluable in the teachings.

He and Glorfindel set up a line of targets, each only twenty feet from a line marked in fallen branches upon the forest floor and stood the youngsters: Ereinion, Ardís, Oropher and two other elves, born upon the shores but only in their first lives, behind it. Archery was not something that had been focused upon greatly, the sword proficiency having been worked upon more thoroughly. A little practice had been done, but never with proper targets. Haldir of Lorien had taught the children how to carve bows and arrows to the length that would likely suit them; the arrows being slightly more than the length of the extended arm and the bow neither too tall nor too short for their stature. Yet, save for the instinctive toying with such weapons, little formal instruction had been given so far.

Elrond was surprised to learn of this, but Celebrían had shaken her head at him. "What need is there upon these shores, Elrond?" she had asked him. "The arts of our kind will be taught, but there is no need for haste in the process." Instead the education in the manners of court and the construction of the elvin cities within Aman had been paramount, also equitation, sailing, geography and the details of healing herbs, the growing and tending of. It was not so unexpected, for this was not the world Elrond had known all his long life; there was nothing left to fight, to defend, for civil wars were uncommon and deeply frowned upon since the kin-slayings of the First Age.

But the time for archery had come. Elrond stood now with Ereinion, his hands resting lightly on the child's arms as he corrected the grip on the bow, for the first real archery lesson that any of the assembled had ever been involved in.

"Relax," Elrond suggested. "Straighten the arm holding the bow a little, but without locking your elbow. Draw the string back until you can touch the corner of your mouth with your forefinger. No, further - here," he added, pressing his own fingertip lightly to the edge of the younger elf's lips.

Ereinion cast him a sidelong look and then nipped at Elrond's finger. Startled, Elrond yelped and then, seeing the smirk on the younger elf's face, began to laugh. If he had not, he knew he would have found it hard to keep the tears from his eyes. Ereinion grinned obliviously, following Elrond's instructions and then, when Elrond had finished smiling, released the string of his bow. His first few shots went wide, hitting red and blue rings and one even missing the edge of the target entirely. Elrond made a few further suggestions, manoeuvring Ereinion's fingers higher up the bowstring and pushing his elbow up to straighten the line between arrow tip and the tautened string.

The next arrow pierced the air, slamming into the target a little above the gold centre ring. The child pulled a face, giving his head a disgusted shake and fitted another arrow, repeating the action. This time the flying shaft skimmed slivers of wood off the first arrow, once again landing in the red ring.

Ereinion lowered the bow with a hiss of annoyance. "What am I doing wrong?" He glanced around at the other youngsters and lowered his voice. "Was I always an inaccurate archer?"

Elrond, noting the way his eyes had strayed to Oropher's target and the number of shafts embedded deeply in the so-far elusive golden ring, tried not to smile at the competitiveness between the pair. It was a wasted effort trying to outshoot one of that Sindarin line. His own twins had waged a similar battle, although upon more friendly terms, with Legolas, the grandson of Orephor, back in Middle-earth.

"You need to lower your point of aim," Elrond explained. "If you are looking at the centre of your target, drop your eyes, maybe as far as the blue circle. Point the tip of your arrow there instead and it should land higher up."

"You are not doing badly," Glorfindel observed critically, for a moment leaving the side of his pupil to inspect the progress made with the rest of the group. "If you can land your arrows so close together already it will be no hardship to manoeuvre them around the target."

Ardís ambled over, eyeing the spent arrows and fiddling with the feathers upon her own. "You have more talent than I at any rate," she remarked. "I am proving to be an appalling shot, am I not, Glorfindel?"

"You were always better with a sword than..." Ereinion began without thinking.

Quickly, Elrond laid a hand upon the younger elf's back as Ardís turned curious eyes on him. Ereinion cast him an alarmed glance, registering his moment of folly and Elrond swiftly tried to smooth over the moment.

"To some the art of handling a blade comes more easily than shooting," he said to Ardís. "And there are none among the elves I know who can rival your talent with a sword."

Ardís smiled, but her expression was shrewd as she examined Ereinion, who was now eyeing her uneasily. Then, suddenly, she shook her head and grinned wickedly. "I will wager that I can cut your arrows out of the air," she said, challenging him. She drew her sword, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Elrond glanced at Glorfindel and then lifted his shoulders, consenting that the competition could go forth. He touched Ereinion on the shoulder. "Shoot true," he murmured into the younger elf's ear. "Remember to lower your point of aim."

Ereinion's determined nod signalled that he had heard; yet his every sense was now trained upon the target. Elrond and Glorfindel stepped back, Glorfindel motioning for the other youngsters to hold their fire while their tutors were thus distracted.

The first shot released with the sharp twang of a string that caught the ear of the other youngsters. Ardís' blade arced through the air and the wooden shaft splintered into two. The pieces tumbled harmlessly to the earth. Ereinion's expression was startled and even the red-haired youngster looked mildly surprised, before her features creased with satisfaction. Ereinion drew another arrow and placed it on the string, drawing back and letting fly. Once more the flash of silver signalled the motion of Ardís' blade and the arrow spun from its course with a sickening snap.

"By the moon and the stars," Glorfindel muttered into Elrond's ear. "That child is as dangerous with a sword as she ever was!"

Elrond, his eyes still upon the duo, nodded, his own disbelief at the swiftness of the streamlined metal in her hands written upon his face.

Four more arrows met the same fate. The next, drawn from Ardís' store, for Ereinion had exhausted his own, was set to the string and Ereinion took a deep breath, straightening his whole stance. He looked at his companion for a moment, and then, as though steeled by her triumphant smirk, looked back at the target. With confidence anew, that should rightly have been shattered as his broken arrows had been, he pulled back the string and fired. The wooden bolt shot through the air, missing the blade by scarcely a hair's breadth, and slammed into the upper portion of the golden ring. Ereinion grinned. Ardís spun her sword in her hand, letting out a whoop of surprise and summoning a scattering of applause from the watching elves.

Elrond moved once more to the younger elf's side, trying to disguise his jubilation. Feigning neutrality he considered his smugly smiling student and then the target. "Hmm," he remarked. "Not bad. You still need to lower your point of aim though."

Ereinion tipped his head back, eyeing Elrond upside down and stuck his tongue out.

Elrond chuckled. "Beautifully shot," he said more truthfully.

Then he stepped back, for suddenly he had wanted to kiss the younger elf. For once, long ago, a similar competition had been held within the grounds of Rivendell and there a celebratory kiss had signalled the triumph of the high king, wrapped in the arms of his herald, crowing victory over his friend of old. Ereinion glanced at him curiously and Elrond smiled for his sake. Clapping his charge firmly on the back, he walked away to retrieve the remnants of the arrows. He saw Glorfindel watching him and exchanged a painful smile with his former seneschal, seeing the sympathy written in Glorfindel's eyes.

For a further hour Elrond and Glorfindel proceed to educate their charges in the art of shooting, moving about the group correcting stance and grip while keeping a weather eye upon those others shooting. When finally the group was dismissed, the children were sent to carve fresh arrows while Elrond and Glorfindel were left to collect up the targets and spent bows. Ereinion too lingered, stabbing at the dirt. He stood beside his target, breaking up the pieces of splintered shafts from the competition that Elrond had left tidily to one side, with the end of his bow.

"I think that the arrows are dead," Elrond said mildly, as he and Glorfindel lifted the awkward target between them.

"Then should they not have the necessary burial rites?" Ereinion asked, without looking up.

Elrond nearly dropped the target. "I...what?"

Ereinion looked up with a shrug. "Nothing."

Elrond opened his mouth to protest, but Glorfindel lowered the target firmly onto his toe and he winced instead. The seneschal shook his head quickly and, when Elrond glanced back at the child, he realised Glorfindel was right. Ereinion's comment had been entirely miscellaneous and there was no further meaning behind it. For one frightening moment, Elrond had wondered if Ereinion had recalled the tragedy of the warriors' graves upon the slopes of Mount Doom and that which haunted Elrond, that Gil-galad had ended his life as little more than a cremated scattering of dust that could not be buried, but rather blown to the wind as if in disregard. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Elrond hefted the target again.

"Come," he said instead. "Let me not encourage you to indulge in that destructive streak you are exhibiting. Pick up those pieces and we can return to the houses."

Ereinion accompanied them in silence, scattering the fragments of wood beneath the trees of the forest to return them to their source. It was only when they were alone once more, and fastening the bolt on the target shed to keep the rain from the stands, that he spoke again.

"I knew her before, Ardís, I mean. She has also borne another life - I remember her being a terrible shot then. I think we...I am certain that we have held such a competition before. Was that not the reason behind the look that came into your eyes as you watched?"

Elrond mentally upbraided himself for his lax control and also quietly cursed the perceptiveness of the child. "Was it?" he asked, testing a little.

Ereinion shrugged. "I cannot claim to know your mind, Elrond, but it seemed so to me. I...last time, it was in a valley," he screwed up his eyes for a moment, frowning. "A deep-sided valley, woven with a matrix of rivers, a river dell valley...come to think of it, that was the name, was it not? Riverdell...no, Rivendell - the valley you were master of. I think Ardís and I were there together and she made a similar challenge, which is why I was so sure I could beat her this time - I had before."

"So you do indeed recall it," Elrond nodded, managing to smile despite himself. "And yes, it was the reason for my expression, though I was not aware it showed. I was pleased for you."

"But you looked sad," Ereinion persisted. "Why?"

Elrond faltered for a moment and then simply shook his head. "Because I was equally thrilled then and I did not think that you remembered."

Ereinion nodded doubtfully. "You always seem satisfied when I remember things," he said, a little quietly.

"And you are not?" Elrond asked.

But Ereinion did not answer. Finally he shrugged. "Sometimes," he replied and then, without looking back, walked away.

Part Nine:

Elrond watched Ereinion walk away and frowned, turning to glance at Glorfindel.

"I think his caution is perhaps more advisable than his former desire to lunge in headfirst," Glorfindel said, understanding the reason for Elrond's confusion.

Elrond nodded slowly. "He seems to be very much infuriated with the entire process," he said with a sigh. "Ah, Glorfindel, I am completely failing to simplify this for him."

"You too should be reminded that we cannot work miracles overnight," Glorfindel said gently, taking Elrond's arm and guiding him along the track toward the beach.

"If at all," Elrond said softly.

Glorfindel looked at him sharply. "What mean you by that?"

Elrond shook his head. "Nothing, forgive me; it is not important."

Glorfindel sighed. He did not speak again though as their feet traced the path that led down onto the sands and they walked in silence beside a piebald sea, the waves rolling up in grey swells, patterned with curling white froth stirred by the sea's motions.

"You meant, I suppose," Glorfindel said at length. "That you and I and all others of our kind have lived in Middle-earth and fought our wars, to doubtful conclusions, with ever waning strength, and now we are come here, leaving behind the problems and pleasures to the humans alone. And upon these shores the peace seems absolute. The climate is pleasant and carefully tendered to be both varied and yet comfortable to reside within. The peoples retreated here when they felt unable to fight. It is supposed to be our reward, our haven and yet..."

"And yet it manages to be none of these things," Elrond concluded with another sigh. "Glorfindel, I cannot help but feel that somewhere the point has been missed. I came here because I am exhausted. I have nothing left to give to Middle-earth. Vilya is powerless and I would not have the strength left to wield her were she not. By all rights this should be perfection and I should be content. But I am not. I feel incomplete instead. It comes to amaze me that there is no more darkness here for us. I look for the sensations, the premonitions of immanent ill and there are none. Mistake me not, a very weary part of me is infinitely grateful for this, but at the same moment I feel lost."

"As do I," Glorfindel replied quietly. He shook his head sadly, his long golden hair spilling across his face like a curtain. "I wonder sometimes if it would not have been better to remain in Middle-earth and fade. I too feel incomplete and now detached from all that I worked to protect. It was for this reason last time that I chose to leave this Blessed Land. I sought a purpose, a reason for being, though in truth I could be called complete and was granted the chance to remain ever here. I had died for a cause and I wished to live for one as well. I need not have seen Middle-earth again, but I wanted something..." He smiled ruefully. "Something more than this."

"Are we not selfish creatures?" Elrond said with a similarly mirthless smile. "We are granted this blessed sanctuary and we are not satisfied."

Glorfindel inclined his head in acknowledgement. "We are not accustomed to it," he said heavily. "We have lived our lives in conflict and the result is that we have come to depend upon it to feel sated, fulfilled. We cannot simply teach archery to children and please ourselves. It is not enough. We come to doubt our purpose and seek a reason for our existence."

Elrond nodded. "We should not," he said.

"No."

For a few moments silence rolled around them, for the words lingered in the air. The thin conviction in them dissipated with every miniscule measure of passing time. Elrond felt his eyes tick toward Glorfindel, sensing the seneschal's gaze upon him, though neither met the other's eye. There had been a time, Elrond was sure, when the elvin race needed no reason for their existence. They were the creations of Illuvatar and their need was dictated by his will. Yet Elrond did not remember such a time. To a degree it was an innate belief that burned like a fire in the core of the elvin being, a source of strength and a reason to survive.

But even the spark could be quenched, by a cruel twist of fate that drowned it in grief, or by destruction of the body that caused the agonised spirit to flee. Or it could simply dim, slowly suffocated by the passing years, the evidence to the contrary, the reasons for existence that became the only purpose. Glorfindel perhaps could recall the time before this and Elrond had always delved into his inner conviction, his natural faith in the Valar of Middle-earth, to give him the courage to walk through the ages.

In Elros the flame had not burned so strongly and he had preferred to live as a mortal, to do what he could when he could and not hope for better, or work for change in a future that seemed unforeseeable. Elrond missed him then, missed the moment-by-moment motivation, instead of the reliance upon endless measures of hope and perpetual striving for visions of the times to come.

Yet Elrond had survived for all the long years of his life on that hope, that faith, and it was only now that he felt his seemingly infinite belief begin to dwindle. There was no longer that desperate need for something to cling to, something to obtain courage from and to brave the endless days comforted by conviction. There was nothing left. Nothing but the belief that they were still supposed to exist for the Valar willed it so and Elrond felt suddenly at their mercy, as though the elves were but the toys of the Valar as marbles are to little children. He shook his head at himself and his despondent thoughts.

"We should not think this way," Glorfindel said, so softly he spoke half to himself. "We do not need reason for our existence, we simply *are*. This is as it is meant to be."

Elrond smiled, stopping before his companion and gently touched Glorfindel's breast. "You have the logic, my friend, but now convince your heart."

The elder elf met his eyes and offered a similarly unconvincing smile, giving his head a shake too. With a sigh, Elrond continued to walk.

He parted from Glorfindel at the edges of the first headland and watched the elder elf cross the pale sands to greet Gandalf, who stood, leaning upon his staff, observing them from afar. Then he turned away and walked on alone.

He walked until he had passed through the first bay, its sands peppered with boats, drawn up high above the seaweed-scattered tidemarks. The keels were encrusted with barnacles and the sides of the little ships crystal-coated with brine. Then on through the second bay he walked, the empty curving expanse of sand and the projection of rock that concealed a deep pool at its edge when the tide was out. Beneath the depths of the water, darkened by the twilight, fronds of weed swayed and crustaceans ponderously negotiated their haven, while tiny fish darted manically about in the quiet waters. And still Elrond walked on, walked until the cliff rose before him and he was forced to hitch up his robes and fumble in the dusk for the ledges in the rock that would lead his ascension to the level shelf mid-way up the face. And there he paused at last, settling himself upon the rocky platform and wrapping his arms about his knees, gazing out at the ocean with his mind empty.

He sighed quietly. Ereinion came once more into his thoughts. The child's parting words had troubled him more than he wished to admit. It was not so out of character to exhibit trepidation or even reluctance; indeed Ereinion had demonstrated measure of both before... Then what? he reasoned. This behaviour is not new, nor is it so unexpected. But I cannot prevent it... He shook his head to banish his thoughts, unable to find a handle upon his unease to explain it. Concluding that he was merely brooding himself into depression, Elrond leaned his chin into his hand and sighed again. Yet he could not shake the heavy cloak of believed worthlessness that had settled upon his shoulders.

"Your thoughts are dark, star-dome after named child of Illúvatar." The sweetly melodic voice served to startle Elrond and he looked in surprise toward the indented cavern in the cliff behind him. From the shadowy entrance to the cave emerged a slender elvin figure, clad in robes woven of layers of ethereal light, which faintly glowed with echoes of the moon's rays. The Lady Elbereth came on silent feet to his side and sat beside him upon the cool ledge, her feet dangled loosely over the edge of the cliff. "Think not that you have no task in this world, Elrond Peredhel, son of Earendil and Elwing. Think not as the lord of Imladris, nor the herald to the High King, nor as the father to your long grown children, nor as the twin to your departed brother. Remember who you are, Elrond, and the gift you have to give, innate and granted to you by Illúvatar himself."

Elrond's brow furrowed as he gazed upon the radiant Goddess, watching the gently chiding smile touch her lips. "I know not your meaning..." he began and was hushed by the soft touch of her finger upon his lips.

"Consider."

The quiet command was compelling. Elrond regarded the moon-veiled lady in puzzled silence. "Who I am? Elrond Peredhel, Elrond half-Elven," he replied, still puzzled.

"Yes and no, child of Illúvatar. Your bloodline is no longer of import; the divide between men and elves, so long ago formed, has been breached by your actions."

"Estel," Elrond nodded. "And Arwen."

"It is so." She continued to watch him, a gentle smile playing about her lips as she waited for him to find his own answers.

"But what, if not wisdom and counsel, does Elrond Peredhel have to give?" she pressed him.

Elrond shook his head. "My lady, I can think of nothing. I am but an elf, loremaster and healer..." He paused, struck by the last admission.

"Exactly," Elbereth softly said. "You are a healer, Elrond Peredhel and your gift is that of healing. Your purpose here you have already found. Did you not recognise him as your cause before, your love and your life? Do you not see him now, for that same cause? This is the gift of the Valar to you for your service in the name of our children."

"Ereinion," Elrond whispered.

The lady's beautiful head inclined and her smile was warm. "He is your gift and your reason. You are needed still, Elrond, as all are who yet live. Do not ever forget that."

She touched his cheek and, cupping his face in her hands, bestowed a soft kiss upon his brow. Then she rose, in a moment fading to insubstantiality, and blended with the moonbeams now bathing the ledge where Elrond sat. He was still for many minutes thereafter, touched and consoled by the comforting presence that lingered in the cave for a little time following. The gift of healing, one he had learned and yet ever known instinctively how to use, he had grown to treasure and yet take for granted in the long years of his life. How foolish now to have overlooked what it could offer here, to the lost and world-weary souls that wandered the shores. And in healing, was not the healer healed too? Elrond rose and descended the steps to the ledge, a quiet smile playing upon his lips as he moved back across the beach.

Part Ten:

It was some days after Elrond's encounter with the Lady Elbereth, yet her words comfortingly lingered in his mind and drew him to the shores after dusk, seeking the simple presence of the Valar, ever felt in waters of Ulmo and the maia, Osse, whose moon-streaked waves lapped the sands at night. The tide was high and Elrond sat upon the dunes, knees drawn up, bracing his torso with one palm upon the sand. The quiet of the night suffused his senses and Elrond let his mind drift, slipping out beyond the mists that surrounded Valinor, floating back through the strange workings of time to the world of men, Middle-earth as it now was. Did Rivendell stand still? Probably, he realised, and it probably would for some time yet. Time moved differently within Valinor to the outside world; it was likely that the elven realms had not yet passed out of existence. Celeborn was yet to come to the shores and Legolas of the Fellowship quest, Thranduil's son, had vowed to join the elves in Valinor when the Fellowship was finally parted forever by death - the death of Estel, which would bring with it the death of Arwen.

Elrond closed his eyes against the beauty of the night. An image of his daughter's face, hauntingly ethereal and radiant as the midnight starscape, rose to the surface of his mind. The cerulean lights of her eyes sparkled and a sweet smile parted her lips. She laughed, a musical echo in his mind and swung away, her hair swirling in an ebony ripple behind her.

Elrond opened his eyes and let his gaze light, unfocused, upon the ever-changing patterns of the waves. Arwen was gone. She would part from this life to follow the one she loved to his final fate, though the price she paid was her immortality. Did we teach her that, Celebrian and I? That true love consumed heart, body and soul, that its value surpassed anything else? Or was it in fact that she feared the length of eternity, seeing the effects it had wrought upon Celebrian - and myself, if I am truly honest? Oh Arwen. I hope, my daughter, that you never come to regret your choice. But in his heart, he feared she would.

From Arwen his thoughts moved naturally onward to his sons and Elrond sighed, aloud this time. Elbereth's words were all but forgotten as he thought upon his twins, Elladan and Elrohir. They too were bound to the mortal world and would die as men with the mortality that ran in their blood. The twins had claimed that they would delay their choice to leave for Valinor, lingering as Celeborn did until duty was done. They had vowed to scourge the last of the Orcs from Middle-earth, as final payment for the suffering their ancient, warped relations had worked upon their mother. Elrohir had also implied that they wished to linger, lest Estel or Arwen had need of them, and Elrond had quietly bowed to their wishes. On the steps of Rivendell they had bid farewells with false assurances that there might come a time when they would meet again. At the end of Arda... Elrond had known when he had spoken his goodbyes that they were eternal. His premonitions had long touched his heart to warn him of future comings and he had felt the finality in the farewell then. They too were gone. Lost to the lands of men because, with the wars over and peace lingering, they felt beyond the reach of comfort, of tranquillity.

Elladan had held out rueful hands, which, though clean, seemed not to appear so to his eyes.

"The stains linger, Papa. We swore our oaths in blood to seek vengeance and we have gained it, thus tainting our souls. Eternity is a long time to bear that burden. Let us think upon it a while."

He had stared off into the distance. A distance he had ever been at since the fateful day of Celebrian's capture and torture. Elrond had never quite found the means to break the shields the twins had erected that day, between themselves and all emotion. No one had ever managed to cross the barriers they had built after Celebrian's departure. They had died their own deaths, slowly, over the weeks and months that had distanced Celebrian from them. So deeply grieved had they been at their own failure to protect her that some part of their souls had fled to the Halls then. Had they been too young to understand that not all things could be prevented? Had they blamed him enough that they would not let him heal them? Had they blamed only themselves and been consumed by it? Elrond knew not. He had asked the questions time and time and time again, of himself, of them, and yet never come to an answer.

And now Ereinion. With an inward shiver he remembered the younger elf's diminishing committal to recalling his former self. Elrond's ability to heal the body was well renown to his kin and all those who had ever sought sanctuary in Rivendell. Yet he doubted his skill at healing the soul. Elros. Celebrian. Elladan. Elrohir. Arwen. The names dropped like leaden weights upon his heart. His healing abilities were all he had left. He leaned forward, burying his head in his hands.

"I cannot do this," he said in despairing plea to the silent night.

"Cannot do what?"

Elrond was suitably startled as a hand descended gently upon his shoulder and the dulcet tones of his wife stirred the lonely quiet. Elrond lifted his head to find Celebrian stooped beside him. She knelt upon the sand and curled her legs beneath her. Her fingers trailed down his jaw and smoothed back his hair.

"We have all been looking for you. Cirdan seeks you most urgently. Ereinion has not left his chamber since midday. He will not open the door and we fear only you will be able to breach whatever fortress he has decided to erect. He will have naught to do with us. I think perhaps only you can outlast him in determination - his stubbornness is quite beyond me!" She laughed lightly.

Elrond raised a sceptical smile. "I think you underestimate your own ability, Celebrian. You are quite capable of being stubborn as I recall."

"Aye, perhaps - though I would prefer to call it persistence and make it sound less wilful."

"Then we are to twist the truth to avoid offending your delicate sensibilities?" Elrond teasingly parried.

Celebrian laughed again. "It would not do for me to admit that."

Elrond chuckled.

"Will you not come, though?" she persisted. "Your delicate touch is much needed, and your counsel."

Elrond did not hesitate in his reply, rising to his feet to accompany her. But his heart was not so light as he crossed the rolling dunes behind her. The grains of sand beneath them were whisked away, lost to the air in the light breeze that ghosted around their feet. The shape of the dunes was as inconstant as the rippling of the waves behind. Elrond paused a moment at the edges of the beach to watch the endless, miniscule changes wrought upon the shores by the elements and wondered at the significance of his noticing of it, something he had known for years and yet now re-appreciated.

Inside he was reluctant to follow, even as his footsteps carried him in Celebrian's wake. As ever my counsel is needed. As ever my touch is revered as being able to help, to heal. I fear those who need me are deceived in my abilities. I believe even I was fooled by them. For so long I have offered aid and comfort, yet in times of war the smallest assistance long sustained the weary-hearted. I see now the catalogue of my mistakes and I wonder, in this new world, is what I offer enough to suffice? I fear it is not. And I seem always to fail those closest to me.

But he did not turn away from the task. He could not. As ever he could not desert those who needed him, to shun the path of duty. It was Celebrian who paused at the threshold to the house and touched his hand to stop his steps.

"Your heart you have left upon the shores," she murmured to him, her voice low lest others nearby should overhear them. "Is this what you believed that you cannot do?"

Elrond's naked surprise revealed his thoughts without his intention and he quickly schooled his features from the soul-baring shock that had crossed over them. Celebrian shook her head, her perceptive azure gaze missing neither the revelation nor the concealment.

"I do not pretend to know what strange thoughts assuage your mind," she said. "But what cause you have to doubt your many talents I am at a loss to understand."

"I am too old to lack self-certainty now," Elrond replied in gruff lie. "I am who I am."

Celebrian folded her arms beneath her breasts, her gaze turning hawk-like and severe. "You, who has ever preached that change can find one at any time in one's life, that it should be tempered but not resisted, appreciated and understood, becomes now rigid in his mind? Elrond, you are not truthful with me."

Elrond sighed. "I think perhaps I need your counsel," he admitted quietly. "For you have all too correctly surmised my state of mind."

"I know," Celebrian softly said. She touched his cheek briefly. "But whatever your heart feels, whatever your doubts may be, there are those who believe in you, I among them, and those who need you, need you now. Will you deny them?"

Elrond shook his head. "Nay, I shall go to Ereinion immediately. Did Cirdan say what was wrong?"

Celebrian shook her head. "He is too worried to think straight. Where Ereinion is concerned he is blinded. The child we lost to his memories has shattered much of Cirdan's faith in himself as a guardian of children. He is as he ever was with those who bear but one life; he teaches and guides and they love and respect him. But with those returned from the Halls..." She broke off with a sigh. "Especially one he loves as dearly as Ereinion, he treats them as though they are as fragile as the web of a spider - and misses the intricate work of the Valar that give them strength. For one so close to Osse, he can be strangely unaware of the support the Valar offer us on our paths."

Elrond paused once more at that, for her unknowing reminder of Elbereth's words to him came as a jolt. He smiled unexpectedly, amused at his own inner turmoil. Turning away from her to seek the child, he laughed as his feet found the stairs to the upper chambers. Oh Ereinion, always you make me question who I am and what I have to offer. He vividly recollected setting aside the books and quills of his scholarly life to take up his sword and stain his hands in blood, not ink, to stand alongside his king in war and fire. To forget his rank within the court and cry aloud "Ereinion" as the high king Gil-galad knelt to him, private in their bedchambers, and their bodies were joined in passion and love. I *am* too old to doubt myself this way, Elrond chided himself and climbed the stairs to their top, moving along the passageway with new haste.

Elrond tapped softly on the door to Ereinion's room, opening the door quietly. It was long after the younger elves were usually abed, for they required more frequently the fully unconscious sleep their kind were able to invoke. As they grew older they could rest simply by allowing their minds to drift into the dreamlands, shifting upon the currents of energy that suffused the natural worlds and so remaining consciously aware while resting.

The younger elf was sat inside his bed, the covers pulled up over his bent knees, his forearms cradled atop them. He lifted his head from the crook of his arms and met Elrond's eyes briefly.

"Hello." His voice sounded soft, subdued.

A thread of ebony hair slid across his cheek and he lifted a hand to brush it away, surreptitiously scraping his knuckles across his eyes. Elrond caught the faint shimmer of liquid upon the pale skin before it was hastily smudged away.

"Hello," Elrond replied cautiously. "I did not see you today, so I came to see how you were." He entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Ereinion forced a smile. "I am fine. And yourself?"

"I am well," Elrond said, approaching the bed and noting with concern the way Ereinion brushed his hand across his eyes again. Elrond took a seat on the edge of the bed, seeing Ereinion's gaze shy from his own and then warily lift to meet Elrond's as though he had done no such thing. "Are you so sure that you are?" Elrond asked carefully, aware that the question was likely to offend the younger elf.

Ereinion's expression grew still more closed off. "Yes..." he said, but his voice was uncertain.

Elrond reached out tentatively and touched the younger elf's hair. Ereinion did not avoid the contact. Instead he swallowed hard and rested his cheek against the comforting palm. Elrond trailed his fingers gently through the silken mane of hair, brushing his thumb over the soft skin of the youngster's jaw.

"I was thinking that perhaps you should consider talking to Glorfindel..." Elrond began to suggest.

"No!" Ereinion wrenched away from him, striking Elrond's hand away. "No." He shook his head violently. He glared at Elrond for a moment and then laid his head upon his forearms once again, shaking his head as he did so. Puzzled, Elrond shifted a little closer and tentatively touched the youngster's shoulder.

"Ereinion? I just thought that perhaps Glorfindel might be of assistance to you. He understands far better than I can what it is that you are going through..."

"I have spoken to Glorfindel." Ereinion's voice was slightly muffled. He lifted his head a fraction, meeting Elrond's gaze. His eyes were wide and glassy with unshed tears. He did not blink, but his jaw was clenched tightly. "He does not understand."

"No?" Elrond raised an eyebrow in surprised question.

"No." Ereinion gave his head a third shake, his response emphatic.

The silence that followed was long and uncommunicative. Finally, Elrond broke it, laying his hand briefly on Ereinion's forearm. "Why do you think that?" he asked gently.

"He just does not." Ereinion stared at Elrond, searching desperately for words to explain the intimidating composure of the great golden elvin hero, who spoke without fear of his own death and with foreboding tones warned of the power of its recollection. Failing, Ereinion was silent, feeling more alone than he had before Elrond had entered the room.

Elrond's brow tautened as the youngster closed his eyes. He did not understand Ereinion's sudden reluctance to converse with Glorfindel, but the miserable expression the younger elf was trying to conceal wrenched at Elrond's soul.

"Very well," he said, keeping his voice calm.

Ereinion darted his eyes up to Elrond's face again, his eyes almost indigo in the low light. He looked away, stifling a wretched sigh. Elrond almost sighed himself, feeling despair well inside him. If Glorfindel had failed, what could he, who knew nothing of death and rebirth, save what he had witnessed in Glorfindel, do to ease the younger elf's distress?

You are a healer, Elrond Peredhel. The lyrical tones of the White Lady echoed musically in his mind. Yet he could find no comforting words. Tentative, for the younger elf often rebuffed such contact, Elrond shifted his position again and slid an arm around Ereinion's shoulders. The youngster stiffened instantly. Yet, just as Elrond was about to release him, Ereinion turned his head, the expression in his eyes showing sudden vulnerability. Then he leaned against Elrond's shoulder and closed his eyes. Elrond's breath caught in his throat at the gesture of such complete trust. He tightened his grip, lightly brushing his fingertips over the child's shoulder, and felt Ereinion relax into the embrace.

"Ereinion, I will not make you if you do not feel that Glorfindel can help. It was just a suggestion." Elrond spoke quietly, seeking to offer some reassurance. "But I do not know how much help I can be to you in understanding the transformations you have undergone and will yet do."

Ereinion pressed closer to him. "You are helping," he said softly. "I do not want to understand the process. Not yet. I just want to..." he trailed off, falling quiet for a moment. "What you are doing is fine. I can talk to you, can I not?" he asked, raising his head to look at Elrond.

"Of course," Elrond replied, squeezing the youngster's shoulders. The faith placed in him, remembered faith perhaps, or born anew, served to chase from his mind his temporary indulgence in self-doubt.

"Good," Ereinion murmured.

But he did not speak again and, some moments later, when Elrond gently swept aside the dark curtain of hair obscuring the youngster's face, his eyes were closed in quiet slumber. Elrond felt a smile creep onto his lips and, with painstaking slowness, extracted himself from the embrace, settling the child amidst the pillows. He eased a coverlet over Ereinion's body and then quietly stole from the chamber.

* * * * *

Elrond did not immediately retire to his own chambers; instead he sought Glorfindel's room and knocked upon the door. No reply came from within and, with a sighing glance out at the night and realising the lateness of the hour, Elrond headed for his own chamber. He was curious as to what had passed between Ereinion and Glorfindel, for the younger elf was clearly upset. What had Glorfindel spoken of to have that effect? Elrond glanced back at the closed chamber door, as he opened his own, and shook his head in annoyance.

Sat before the fireplace, a glass of miruvor in his hand, with another poured and set upon the mantelpiece, was Glorfindel. Stopping short, Elrond greeted his friend with a nod and then moved to take up the awaiting glass.

"I thought I had better come and find you," Glorfindel said, placing his glass on the arm of the chair and stretching his arms up behind his head. He shook out his curtain of hair and exhaled, shaking off the drowsiness induced by the long wait at the late hour. "Have you seen Ereinion today?"

"Yes." Elrond took a sip from his drink and then re-set it on the mantelpiece. "I have just been to your chambers in search of you, my friend. Forgive me if I sound brusque, but what passed between the two of you this day? I thought that you of all people would understand what Ereinion is feeling at the moment and yet he says quite adamantly that you do not." Elrond knew he was failing to keep the sharpness out of his tone and swallowed down the concluding statement: I would have expected a little more sensitivity from you.

"I do understand, Elrond," Glorfindel sighed. "But the ways in which we react to this experience differ greatly. I have been talking with Ecthelion and Tuor, for they are reunited upon these shores, their friendship as great as ever it was. Idril too is here, for she and Tuor travelled West after the fall of Gondolin and were permitted entry to these shores" he added as an afterthought. "Ecthelion feels as I do regarding his former life; it is part of a whole that cannot and should not be denied and he seems to have had little difficulty in recalling all that has happened to him. Tuor, however, does not, will not, speak of it. He is haunted by dreams of that time, the presence of which he denies. Ecthelion is trying to ease his distress but it seems Tuor blames himself for the death of his friend. My point, Elrond, is that the consequences of these recollections are diverse and quite unpredictable."

"This is ominous warning to my ears but you do not answer my question," Elrond said, a little more sharply than he had intended.

Glorfindel flinched at his tone, his eyes surprised and slightly hurt. "I do not mean to further worry you, my lord," he apologised.

"Just answer the question," Elrond answered shortly.

"I tried to speak to Ereinion of Gondolin," Glorfindel explained. "I hoped that he would see that his death and former life can be accepted and incorporated into a whole, but also that it takes time and should not be rushed. I mentioned the incident we had with my nightmares and your suppressant drink. Valar forbid that Ereinion should be hidden from his past, the consequences could be devastating, but to induce the memories too swiftly, as I have previously warned him, could be still worse."

Elrond nodded, frowning to himself. "I thought to ask you myself to speak of such things with him, you are not careless with your tongue and I am perplexed as to what then has caused him grief." He sighed, still frowning and took a seat opposite Glorfindel, twirling the stem of his glass between thumb and forefinger. He considered the matter for a few more moments and then shook his head, draining the last of his drink and rising. "I apologise for my curtness, my friend, you are not at fault, I think."

Part Eleven:

Summer had broken into autumn now and the days were growing shorter as the months moved by. The sea was losing the warmth it had gained over the summer and there was a fresh chill to the air, though the skies remained azure-washed like a painted portrait; save for the occasional unpredictable spell, such as had been brought to the shores in recent days.

Elrond stood at his window, idly observing Haldir and Glorfindel crossing blades together for the amusement and education of the elvin children. Ereinion's red-haired companion was crouched as close as she could get without being in the way, her eyes intently scrutinising every sweep of the blades, which shimmered white-fire beneath the veiled sun. The grass was damp and more rain threatened, though it had fallen lightly for some time earlier. Lunging in with a jab at Haldir's abdomen, Glorfindel slipped, unbalanced by the uncertain footing. He fell and landed upon one knee. He found Haldir's blade instantly at his throat and looked up with a grin, raising his hands in defeat. The former Lorien guardian lowered his weapon, holding out a hand to assist Glorfindel to rise.

Elrond turned from the scene when a brief knock at the door warned him it was about to open. Ereinion entered a moment later and closed the door automatically. He was dressed as the other youngsters were, in tough, battered, animal-skin fabrics that could withstand the antics of swordplay. He wore, strapped to his waist, a sword-belt and one of the wooden blades used for practice sessions. It was all too obvious that he was supposed to be practicing. Something in his manner, however, warned Elrond against suggesting he return to the field. There was a hardness to his expression and a stiff set to his shoulders.

It was several days since Elrond had last spent any time with him. The younger elf was more frequently engaged now, in a variety of duties that had been neglected over the previous winter and spring's months, namely: riding, shooting and swordplay. Elrond had taken the opportunity, while these were suspended, to encourage Ereinion to listen to recitals, slightly doctored in the aspect of names, from a vast number of texts. Over the summer and into the autumn, he had encouraged the youngster to participate in such activities in order to regain those aspects of his character as much as his historical knowledge. They were just as likely to be triggers to his memory and even if they did not fulfil that, they were important skills. Today it looked like the former.

"So," Elrond said, examining his charge and speaking with care. "You did not desire to watch two admirable swordsmen in practice."

"I have watched for some time," Ereinion replied. His response was no more than that, his eyes avoiding Elrond's and speaking of his desire not to converse upon the topic.

Despite this, Elrond pressed the issue a little. "And yet you come here instead and choose not to attempt the techniques yourself."

"Yes." The reply was slightly curt.

"Have you no suitable partner?" Elrond persisted, curious as to why the youngster had chosen to shun his peers and the tuition.

"Of course I do! Ardís is more skilled than I and makes for a challenging partner."

Glancing up, obviously annoyed, Ereinion caught Elrond's gaze and let out a hiss of exasperation, realising that the older elf was seeking an explanation not an evasion. "I do not want to practice," he said, his voice flat. "I keep doing things that I do not know how to do." He shook his head. "It has happened before, that time with Ardís and the shooting, but I know it will happen again and more so now."

Elrond crossed to the bed and knelt, taking one of Ereinion's hands in his own. He could feel the tension vibrating within the child's aura and sought instinctively to quiet it. "Ereinion, we will achieve nothing if you resist the attempts of your conscience to retrieve what has been lost to you during your time away from Arda. I cannot simply tell you tales to fill in the gaps, for they will be just that, stories, with no meaning and no real reference to you, for you will not recollect them even if you lived them once."

"I *know*," Ereinion almost snapped. "I know. But everyone keeps telling me to wait a little, to leave it 'until I am older,'" he quoted bitterly. "Frankly I am not inclined to hear second-hand information about myself. I do not want to know things that way. But if I do remember them then I never recall the full story and so I have to. And even if I try to ignore all this completely, it will not go away and one day there will be no choice. We have been through this before, Elrond. I am not trying to run away from this, but it does not mean I have to like it!"

That is so like you. Even though you are afraid, you will not flee. You mask fear with anger and resolve. Perhaps it would work, if I did not know you so well. Elrond curled his legs beneath him and propped one elbow on the edge of the bed. With an inward sigh he at last realised the flaw in the attempts he, Glorfindel and Cirdan had made to shield Ereinion from the more unapproachable aspects of history. Instead they had succeeded in repelling his interest in the subject, causing him to resent the memories instead of being intrigued by them, or even frightened him by their silence. The unknown was more fearful than that which could be prepared for or understood.

"No, you do not," he admitted, searching for a way of rectifying his mistakes. "And I admire your courage in facing your history so early. You have, it seems, already deduced and accepted far more than many, years older than you, have done. As for liking the situation, I do not expect you to instantly. But I hope in time that you may."

The words were meant as a comfort, yet Elrond was suddenly struck by a great sadness that Ereinion might not want to recall the time Elrond still held so precious.

The younger elf picked up on the change in Elrond's tone, for he lifted intrigued cerulean eyes to his mentor's.
"Is it worth remembering?" he asked softly.

Elrond tried to swallow down the knot of sadness, woven by the years of loss, which rose in his throat and threatened to choke away his breath. Finally, unable even to speak, he nodded. Ereinion's hand tightened in his, the slender fingers lightly stroked the back of Elrond's hand.

"I keep feeling...as though whatever my life was, it was important. And I am not sure whether this is simply what I would wish it to be, or what it really was. If it is the first, then I wonder if it will be worth remembering...and if it is the other...it may be...overwhelming." He spoke uncertainly, his eyes fixed upon their linked hands.

Elrond inhaled calming breaths of air, until he was certain he could speak without revealing any more of his turbulent emotional state. "Your life should be important to you, Ereinion, no matter what was or was not achieved. I would hope that you will grow to remember it with pleasure where it is due and all other emotions so suited to its course."

Ereinion began to uncurl Elrond's fingers, straightening each out and then refolding them thoughtfully. "You are avoiding answering me, are you not?" he said, sounding slightly amused at last. "You do this often, seem to answer me and in fact hide away your thoughts with platitudes."

Caught out, Elrond lifted guilty eyes to the younger elf. Ereinion had read him as only one familiar to the half-elf could ever have done, not mistaking his words of true wisdom for being that alone and instead recognising the concealment of his inner thoughts. You fear to remember only when you realise what you are doing, Elrond noted with interest. How much else have you discovered, without knowing it?

"Ereinion, I think in many ways I am too close to be able to assist you in this. I knew you well in your former life and I would be greatly saddened if you chose to reject the memories, based upon what I myself recollect. It makes it harder for me to understand why you find it so alien to be faced with a time you do not recall and yet you know existed."

Ereinion watched him for a few minutes, digesting these words. Elrond let the silence wash over him, temporarily allowing himself to fall back into his memories.

"Ah Elbereth, have I missed you?" The king's rhetorical question was slightly muffled as he spoke with his head buried deep in the fabric of Elrond's robes. "I have ridden for so many hours I fear my legs will permanently be curved into the shape best fitted to my horse's sides and atop that, had to suffer one of those excruciating banquets, which, though most suited to the reception of royalty into one's halls and most excellently provided, my beloved, are of far too great a duration when we have been apart for so long."

Gil-galad drew back, stroking Elrond's hair away from his face to press his lips against his lover's in a deep, consecrating kiss. Pausing once more for breath, he traced the lines of Elrond's features, his eyes gladly drinking in the essence of his lover once more. Elrond had long been absent from Gil-galad's company, for the founding of Rivendell, to provide a refuge and stronghold for the elves of Middle-earth in the time of war upon them, had meant that Elrond now resided, not in Lindon at his lover's side, but within his own valley realm. This was Gil-galad's first visit to the haven; though he had invested elves and capital in its creation, he had not been able to justify nor spare the time for a visit until now, when Rivendell finally opened its doors in full.

The constant state of war that had followed Gil-galad's refusal of "Annatar," a disguise Sauron had undertaken to win the support of the Eldar, had bound the king to his palace, alternately trying to relieve the dissention built by Sauron's schemes, and defending the strongholds for which he was responsible. The slaying of Celebrimbor had shaken the faith of the other elvin lords, many of whom had trusted in Annatar and so, now at least, Gil-galad had the necessary support to continue to defy Sauron.

Gil-galad's hands smoothed down Elrond's back, pulling him closer and kissing him again. The familiar feel of the tall, strong body pressed against his, Elrond found deeply reassuring. Though he was immersed in the work of and deeply proud of his new valley - not least due to the trust that Gil-galad had placed in him and also the knowledge of the great value of Rivendell to the peoples of Middle-earth - Elrond had sorely missed his lover. He wrapped his fingers around Gil-galad's braids, drawing the king into another kiss, seeking to drink the soul he claimed as his own from within.

"I have missed you too," Elrond whispered back. The warmth of their bodies and the comforting envelope of their auras intertwined created the sensation of their physical forms melding into one, so that neither could tell where his own body ended and the other's began. "I feel that there is something missing when you are gone, something that I may never find again. It is as though I have lost a part of myself. I look for you and you are not there - you are somewhere else and it is not right. You should never be away from me."

"You could not be more right. It is unnatural to be parted from you. Lindon is so quiet without you - and with the noise that the servants make I would not have thought that possible." Gil-galad raised a chuckle, tightening his arms around his lover. "But it is, quiet and empty."

"Then I beg you, love, let us fill the silence and the emptiness," Elrond murmured against the soft lips, so tantalisingly close.

Gil-galad's mouth closed over his and Elrond felt himself melt into the embrace, losing himself in the sense of completeness he always found with his king.

It was memories such as those, Elrond realised, that he would loath to be forgotten forever. Though such bittersweet recollections had both grieved him and sustained him throughout the ages that followed the death of his lover, Elrond thought upon them now with great fondness. Just recalling the feeling of being swathed in the deepest affection, gripped by a familiar embrace, after so much effort and so much strain, Elrond felt himself smile a little.

And then, glancing up at Ereinion, Elrond felt a sickened twist in his gut. The only other to whom such memories mattered did not even dimly recall them. I miss you. I miss you so much. Elrond closed his eyes in his silent torment. This is worse, now more than ever before. You are here - and yet you are not.

"Are you unwell?" Ereinion's voice startled him. "You have gone pale, Elrond."

Call me a healer - though I am one, and no medicine can ease my pains.

"Forgive me," Elrond blinked and attempted a smile. "I am well, thank you. I am a little tired, that is all."

"Do you wish me to leave?" Ereinion asked.

No, by the Valar no. Do not leave me again. Though it hurts to have you so near - and yet so far away - do not leave me, please. Not again.

"I shall certainly be poor company," Elrond replied, placing a lid firmly upon his own thoughts.

Ereinion slid off the bed to sit beside him, folding his knees up and keeping hold of Elrond's hand. "Then I will not beg of you conversation," he replied. "But I would stay, if you will let me."

The logical part of Elrond's mind considered sending the child back to his sword practices, yet the burning, personal desire to have Ereinion close railed against this. Elrond compromised, holding his tongue and allowing the younger elf to make what he willed of the silence. After a few moments, awaiting the response that did not come, Ereinion settled back against the bed-frame, resting his head comfortably upon Elrond's shoulder.

It was there that, much later, Cirdan found them, searching for his errant student and, though he nodded pleasantly to Elrond, he drew Ereinion aside and spoke privately to him. And Elrond did not see him again for the remainder of that day.

Part Twelve:

It was in fact some days before Elrond saw anything of Ereinion again. And when he did come it was late, long after the evening meal and when the majority of the household were socially engaged within the grounds or in bed and resting. Elrond himself was at his desk, belatedly answering a correspondence from Glorfindel who was travelling elsewhere in Aman. Ereinion's now familiar knock barely preceded the opening of the chamber door and certainly did not wait for an answer. Laying aside his pen, Elrond glanced at him with a pleased smile, glad of his company again. As Elrond greeted him, Ereinion crossed the room and flung himself onto the bed, making the springs creak in protest.

"You were right about Cirdan," Ereinion remarked, not even answering the greeting.

Elrond, puzzled, opened his mouth to ask what he had meant.

Then suddenly, Ereinion lifted his head, sitting up awkwardly and apologised. "Forgive me," he said stiffly. "Good evening and I apologise for my rudeness." He grimaced, twisting his knuckles together until they cracked.

Elrond winced at the sound. Rising, he crossed the room, catching the youngster's hands to stop him.

"Did I show any sign of resenting your behaviour?" Elrond asked. "No? Then do not apologise."

He was slightly pained by the abrupt reversion back to formality between them; even in a space of a few months they had slid so easily into their former companionable ways, despite the differences now between them, that it came as a surprise to have them lost.

"I should treat you in a manner more in accordance with your rank and station from Middle-earth. You are my elder and...I should behave more respectfully toward you." The words sounded forced, and Ereinion's expression was resentful. He lifted his head, evidently crushing his feelings, and met Elrond's gaze with a neutral eye. "And so I ask your forgiveness."

"I have already granted you that. Ereinion, I am no longer in Middle-earth and so I cannot hold claim to the title I ruled under there - that has already been passed on. As far as respect goes, you have not insulted me nor given me reason to take offence."

"No, but..." Ereinion took a deep breath. "I am behaving 'as though you are a friend of mine and not a mature elf lord.'" He spoke with gritted teeth, quite plainly quoting Cirdan. "I apologise."

Elrond frowned. "May Elbereth save me from being tied forever to the duties of a lord," he murmured softly. Cirdan was right on one level, yet the principles were not to Elrond's liking in the situation and he struggled to communicate this without undermining the tutoring of the guardian. "Ereinion, if I tell you that I do not mind being treated as a friend, will that be sufficient for you to lay aside this business? Cirdan is quite right that you should ascertain this is acceptable first, but if I say now that it is, is that enough for you?"

Ereinion cast him a sideways look. "You are quite sure?"

"Completely," Elrond replied firmly.

Ereinion let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I know such formalities are necessary for the sake of courtesy, but it...I find them hard to keep to around you..." he faltered. "I am glad you do not mind."

Automatically, Elrond reached out to smooth the younger elf's hair. The gesture, long ago, would have induced the king to lay his head against Elrond's chest or draw him down into a kiss, so that they could find comfort when words no longer sufficed. Ereinion shied away from the touch. Scalded, Elrond pulled his hand back, remembering himself.

"My apologies," he said swiftly.

"I...it makes me feel like a child," Ereinion said, colouring slightly. "I do not like that."

Elrond nodded. "I understand. It was habit..."

Ereinion's gaze grew shrewd and he watched Elrond for a moment. "You have spent much time around children then and think of it as a comfort?" he said at last.

Elrond nodded and quickly changed the subject.

"What brings you here this night, or has Cirdan been keeping an eye upon you? I assume from your earlier comment you meant that Cirdan is not happy with us, as we suspected when first you came to me?"

Ereinion nodded. "Both are correct. Cirdan does not like me spending so much time with you."

"Perhaps this is because you have been known to shirk your duties and your classes," Elrond observed, smiling at the younger elf's discomfort.

"I suppose so," Ereinion admitted ungraciously. "But that is not a reason to keep me from you when I am on my own time."

"And with that you may do as you please," Elrond noted. "Yet you choose to spend the evening shut in a chamber with me; what pleasure can that hold?"

For you, I cannot now imagine. For myself...it hurts, but it is better than nothing.

"Would you not rather be with companions of your own age?"

Ereinion frowned, his expression uncertain. "You would wish me to go to them?"

"No, if you want to stay, feel free to do so. I will be glad of your company. But if you wish to be with your friends...?"

"No," Ereinion replied, shaking his head. "No, I do not - I cannot - be around them any more." He sighed a little, placing his palms flat upon the bed and letting his head fall forward. Thick locks of hair slipped over his shoulders to hang about his face. He lifted his gaze to Elrond's and continued. "It is strange being with them now. They do not remember that they have lived before. They do not even suspect. Yet I know, not only about myself, but that *they* have more years to their names than these few held currently. It is hard...hard to know and hard to conceal. I...I am always alone when I am with them." He held Elrond's eyes steadily for a moment. "I do not feel that when I am here."

A fluttering of emotion batted in Elrond's stomach. He knew well the feeling of being alone when surrounded; for many years he had wandered the halls of Rivendell in such a manner. And deep within him, he felt the smallest stirring of hope at the younger elf's words. A hope perhaps that Ereinion could come to find sanctuary once more in Elrond's company. Outwardly he simply smiled and nodded.

"Well then, how may we entertain ourselves?"

"The stars are out," Ereinion ventured, moving to the window.

Elrond followed him, snuffing out his candle that they could see the night better. He stood behind Ereinion, resting one hand against the stone window frame. "They are indeed."

He was silent for a moment, watching the younger elf, who was transfixed by the starlight above. In the semi-darkness of the chamber only the faint golden glow of the stars illuminated them. The moon was absent from the starry cape of night; dark in its new phase, only the faintest impression of where its hidden face was set, shadow on darkness. Before him, Ereinion's hair, unbraided, poured like liquid obsidian down over his shoulders, streaked with silver and gold by the starlight. He placed one knee on the window ledge, leaning forward to gaze out across the grounds to the wine-dark ocean, glittering as though it were inset with stars, as was the sky. The motion was strangely, erotically, feline. A hint of great strength rippled through his young muscles, the long, straight slope of his spine leading down to the smooth curve of his buttocks and the curled legs beneath. The sylvan coloured fabrics of his breeches tightened sensuously as he moved and, when he glanced back over his shoulder at Elrond, accentuated the fall of his ebony hair, offsetting his pale features. In the darkness, he looked older than his years, and his words, speaking of a sanctuary, a completeness, in Elrond's company drew the elder elf down the paths of memory, far removing him from the present - and all its barriers...

He is a child. A child. I cannot think of him as anything else. I must not. His heartbeat had quickened obliviously and heat pooled low in his abdomen. Elrond clenched his fingers into fists, hardly aware of the sting of his nails cutting into his palms. He gripped tighter, until the pain began to draw him back into the reality that was the present and not the perilous past that threatened to snatch away his control.

"Can you name the stars?" Elrond asked, forcing a sudden, teasing smile, relieved when Ereinion turned his gaze back to the sky. He barely heard Ereinion's chuckle as the younger elf asked whether this was to make up for his missing his studies in order to spend time with Elrond. Distantly he heard himself answer with a joking affirmative. None of the names of the stars reached his ears, as, pointing to the sky, the child began to prove his knowledge of the constellations.

Blood had risen in crescents upon his palms, and Elrond pressed his fingers over the nail bite marks, wincing a little. He closed his eyes, furious and disgusted with himself. Tentatively he lifted his eyes to the stars once more, watching the golden array scatter as his vision blurred. He blinked, forcing back the memories of the past, and the longing for them.

Movement caught his eye and Elrond became aware that Ereinion was looking at him. The younger elf had shifted to sit upon the window seat and, leaning back against the frame, was eyeing him curiously.

"A fine tutor you make if you do not pay attention to the lesson," Ereinion teased.

"I..." Elrond bowed his head, shame warmed his cheeks and he was grateful for the obscuring fall of his hair. "Forgive me, that was rude."

Ereinion grinned and then looked out at the night again. "It doesn't matter, I like the stars and so I know that I am right in my naming of them. The starlight...it fascinates me."

Elrond nodded, thinking to a time, long ago, when Gil-galad, as he was then, had fiercely promised the night to Elrond - it was the only time they had ever been able to call their own.

"You were named for the starlight," he murmured without thinking.

"By whom?" Ereinion frowned suddenly, turning away from the window. "My name...was it the same before? And how would I have come to be called it again?"

Elrond leaned his back against the wall, letting the cool of the stone seeping through his robes quiet what humiliating emotional stirrings his own self-disgust could not. "It was," he said quietly. "It is always so I am told, that one who has lived upon this earth with a name will assume it once more if reborn. I know that Glorfindel did. The matter of a naming is no simple procedure, for we are granted often a father name, a mother name or may later assume one of our own choosing. I think that whoever named you at your birth this time would have found the name inexplicably come to their tongue. It is yours and so it shall always be."

"Whoever..." Ereinion began and then stopped. "Elrond, who were my parents? Last time I mean, who was my sire - and my mother? Why cannot I remember them when..." He broke off suddenly, biting his lip and his scowl deepened.

"When what?" Elrond pressed.

"When I remember you." Ereinion slid abruptly off the window ledge and moved away into the room. "You were neither mother nor father to me and yet I recall you and not they. How is this so?"

Elrond watched the younger elf as he glanced back, his features crossed with his confusion and frustration.

"I think that you remember things that were particularly impor-..." Elrond broke off quickly, realising what he had been about to say.

But Ereinion had already caught on and finished the sentence with a new, wary light in his eyes. "Particularly important to me." He glanced down at the floor and then up again, his mouth set with tension lines. "Who are you, Elrond? And who were you to me?"

Elrond ached to tell him, yet the sudden pang that struck him hearing the almost resentful note in his young charge's voice checked his answer. "A friend," he replied quietly. "A friend."

"Then you must be some friend!" Ereinion replied sharply. "If I know you above my parents! Should they not have been important to me?"

"Of course," Elrond said firmly. "Ereinion, this may not be as it appears. We cannot know why you remember what you do. Perhaps it is only because I am here that you know me."

"So where are my parents; what happened to them? Tell me, please, that they are not here and keep me at a distance as you did." Ereinion stared at Elrond with eyes that were very wide. His voice softened in his consternation and he scrubbed his knuckles restlessly across his brow. "I wish that I could remember all this, remember everything."

"Shh," Elrond crossed to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding the child to sit upon the chair by his desk. He knelt beside the youngster. "In time you shall."

"In time!" Ereinion dismissed it impatiently. "I would rather it were now!"

"If that were to happen you would not think it so." A voice from the doorway made them both look up. Glorfindel was framed there, his long golden hair escaping from his braids and his cloak muddied from travelling. "Forgive the intrusion, my lord Elrond; I believed that I would find you alone at this hour."

"Welcome home, Glorfindel. Tell me, what is the time?" Elrond asked, rising then and glancing at the window.

"Quite past the midnight hour," Glorfindel replied. "Had I not been so close I should have stopped to camp for the night and arrived here after dawn."

He entered the room, closing the door that had opened unheard. Setting his cloak and pack aside upon the end of Elrond's bed, he crossed the room and stood over Ereinion, eyeing him almost severely. "As for your wishes, young sir, as I have said before, do not be so hasty to call up your past. The present is more valuable than you can know. Do not live so entirely in times gone that you forget what is now. And even if you wish to live in the past, think: this will soon become that very thing. Why each minute just gone by is now history and you may regret its loss if you fail to appreciate it."

Ereinion fell silent as though chastised, oblivious to the quiet hand Elrond touched to Glorfindel's arm and the murmured, "Gently, my friend" that accompanied it.

"My apologies," Ereinion said after a moment. "I still find this frustrating, that is all."

"It is frustrating," Glorfindel admitted, shifting into a less imposing position and lowering himself to sit upon his heels. "The Lady knows how much I struggled with the same feelings you feel now. But not all that you come to remember will please you and there will be a time when you value greatly when you did not know of it."

Ereinion's expression grew still more guarded. "Do you speak in general or of my life or of your own?"

"A little of all," Glorfindel replied. He rose once more and turned to Elrond. "I will leave you, my lor-..." He smiled suddenly as Elrond placed a finger across his lips warningly and then continued. "I will leave you - Elrond - I just wished to let you know that I had returned."

"Nay," Elrond protested. "Stay, will you not? I would gladly hear of your travels if you wish to tell of them."

"Happily," Glorfindel said, his smile suggesting that the visitations had gone well. "I would not wish though to intrude."

"You are not," Elrond answered, glancing at Ereinion. "Come, stay and tell us your tales."

He deliberately included Ereinion and was relieved when the younger elf made neither signs of resentment nor desire to leave. Ereinion stayed seated at the desk chair, while Elrond and Glorfindel settled themselves upon the fireside chair and the desk edge respectively. Glorfindel had left the welcoming house in Valinor in order to examine the various other abodes within Aman, for he was considering leaving at some point to construct his own refuge, as, Elrond realised, he too would eventually decide to do. The conversation turned to the travels of Glorfindel until the sun rose once more to paint the sky with dawn blushes.

Part Thirteen:

"You did not answer my question."

Ereinion pushed the beam over, ducking beneath it, and then set a straight course once more across the harbour. The day following Glorfindel's return found Elrond bullied into sailing. Ereinion had a strange passion for boats, courtesy no doubt of Cirdan's raising of him. He was deeply wary of the sea, his Noldorin ancestry not endearing him to the sea maia Osse, but his relationship with Cirdan granting him the protection that even the detachment of the Valar in matters of historical grudges could not. The kin-slaughter of the Teleri by the Noldor had borne resentment against them from Osse. Ereinion was no longer truly aware of either, but his instinctive caution on the waves no doubt lingered from his previous knowledge. As Elrond recalled, the high king Gil-galad had been hugely distrustful of both the sea and sailing, despite his place of upbringing - courtesy no doubt of being in close conttact with the irascible Osse in the earlier years that had followed the kin-slayings.

This clearly did not hold true any longer and Ereinion had insisted on taking Elrond out in the small ship that he and Ardís had built from scratch in previous years, under Cirdan's direction. He sailed the little boat with confidence and pleasure. This was fortunate, for Elrond was less at home on the ocean. He had not inherited Earendil's insatiable desire for sailing. Elrond would travel by boat without great fear, but he preferred the land, and was not quite so relaxed in the tiny dinghy that now spun him about the large harbour.

"Your question?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow at Ereinion.

The child shoved aside a lock of wind-blown hair that strayed into his eyes and nodded. "Last night, before Glorfindel came," he reminded Elrond. "I asked you about my parents and you did not tell me."

"I cannot," Elrond replied truthfully. "I did not know your family at all. What little I knew was gleaned from your own stories, which were few, and their place in the historical records of our people."

Ereinion sighed. "I do not know why I do not remember them. I feel as though I should but I do not."

"And what about this time?" Elrond asked, suddenly puzzled. "Who were - are - your parents?"

Ereinion shrugged. "I do not know. As long as I can remember I have lived with Cirdan and Celebrian."

"Oh," Elrond said softly. "I see. I am sorry."

Inside his heart twisted. Why are you fated never to live with your own kin, but always you are raised by guardians? He stared at the child, now himself glancing out across the sea. The deep blue-green ripples of the waves formed an ever-changing backdrop to his motionless posture, only the dark fronds of his hair stirring in the breeze. Because he should not be bound to the fate of his kin, their curse, though he bears their name and their lineage strength in form and character. What made him the king he was to his people was his raising, his understanding of the different races of Middle-earth and his support of them. Whether Osse passed the thought to Elrond, or it was simply a logical realisation, Elrond was not certain. The words seemed to roll through his mind like the waves of the ocean, their truth infallible. Ereinion would not have been the same elf had he been brought up by his family, nor would he again come into that self were he to have been granted the boon of close blood kin this time.

Ereinion did not reply. His eyes stared vacantly off into the distance and a frown flickered on his brow. He was rocking in sync with the ocean and slowly his face grew pale. Almost imperceptibly at first, he bowed over, until he was hunched inward on himself as though his stomach made him feel nauseated. The fingers gripping the boat's tiller weakened their hold and he shivered a little. It looked almost as though he grew seasick, an unlikely thing in the eyes of his companion. Concerned, Elrond reached out and laid a hand over his, feeling the skin damp and clammy beneath his touch. Ereinion leapt like a startled beast, the boat wavering from its course. He stared at Elrond in blank incomprehension and then blinked, hastily regaining control of his wayward ship.

"They sent me away," he said, his voice distant and strained. "My parents...last time I mean... It was Cirdan who brought me up last time." He stared at Elrond, realisation painted across his features, underlined with further confusion. "Was it not?"

Elrond nodded, relived to note that the child had straightened up and, though the colour had yet to return to his cheeks, the boat moved cleanly through the water once more. It seemed the physical changes were directly connected to the memory, as though the recollection of being sent to the home of Cirdan brought with it the seasickness or homesickness experienced upon the journey. Elrond frowned to himself, uncertain as to whether this was the normal course of things. If it was...

Elrond shuddered suddenly, thinking with a swoop of blinding horror of the death Ereinion would one day be forced to face, to relive through his own memories. Elrond stared at the child, feeling his eyes burn painfully. That moment, that ghastly moment, which had torn his living heart from his breast upon the slopes of the Mountain of Doom. The moment, witnessed with Cirdan and the weak-willed Isildur, was a memory of the blackest hue. Cirdan himself had not the courage to face it once again and Elrond, feeling the grip of horror at the prospect flex its deadly fingers about his soul, offered a silent prayer to the Valar to send him the strength he needed.

Ereinion however, continued speaking, thinking back to another time and failing to notice Elrond's momentary lapse. "I did not realise before, because I have always known Cirdan to be my guardian, I thought I was just mixing up the past and present, seeing him then as I do now, but it is not so. I still do not know who my family was, but they sent me to him on a boat and I..." he faltered. "I did not see them again, I think. They...they are dead too, are they not?"

Elrond could not bring himself to reply. For another reason this time. He thought of the time in which Celebrian had broken the news of her leaving for the West to their children, or, more accurately, dropped the news like a blow and walked away, leaving Elrond to pick up the pieces that consequently shattered. The loss of a parent, he had witnessed the grievous effect upon his own children, the thirst for revenge-tainted blood that had grown to consume his twin sons.

Arwen had fled instead to the sanctuary of a home in which her grandparents resided, namely the Golden Wood, where no traces of the loss that scarred Rivendell's walls could be found. She had turned from the life of the Eldar, finding one to keep her and care for her devotedly in Aragorn and becoming his queen. She had seen her mother's torment and dreaded a lonely life, which no love nor beauty could repair should one find ill fate during its course. Fearing that fate, Arwen had taken upon her the mortal life.

Elrond knew that he had not eased her fears; unable to erase the ever-lingering sadness he still suffered from the losses that peppered his own life: Elros, and his own parents, he had grown accustomed to early in his years, but the devastating loss of Gil-galad had coloured much of his married life and the subsequent loss of Celebrian had shaken Elrond greatly. Though he had sought to comfort his children, he had found himself offering consoling words in which he did not believe and all the while they knew it was so.

The twins seemed undecided; they had not been ready to leave with Elrond and their only chance remained in Celeborn, to depart for Valinor with their grandfather. Whatever their choice, Elrond knew that what one did, the other would also. He did not believe that they would come. Neither of the twins had ever married, nor seemed to care to. They grew instead closer, seeking only each other for company and turning a barely-civilised nature to the rest. Revenge was their passion, their penance...their solace.

He looked at Ereinion for a long moment of silence, wondering what to tell him. The sudden sharpening of the child's tone startled him.

"Are you going to ignore me?"

"If you speak to me like that I might," Elrond cautioned mildly.

Ereinion apologised, but kept his eyes upon his companion.

Finally, reluctantly, Elrond nodded. "Yes, your parents are long passed into the Halls and have not returned."

But Ereinion showed no signs of distress or dismay. He too nodded. "I would like to know who they were," he said pensively. "But I suppose it explains why I cannot recall them."

His matter-of-fact tone shook Elrond almost more than a display of grief would have done. But then, as Elrond well knew, Gil-galad had always spoken rather calmly of his family. He had cared for them, but they had long been absent from his life. Cirdan told that Gil-galad, as a child for the first time brought to his shores, had greatly missed his parents for many years. He had often expressed desires return to his home to help in the wars that had led to his fostering. But his sadness at the demise of his father, and later his uncle, had been fierce and short-lived. As a child he had been upset that he could not help and felt he had failed his father, but as an adult he had come to accept that he would have been more a liability than an aid, something for his father to protect, not a protection for his father. In later years he had spoken more warmly of Cirdan, with whom the greater part of his childhood had been shared.

The remainder of their boat ride they continued speaking only of the places Glorfindel had visited and talking of the routes to reach them by land or water. Ereinion had sailed considerable distances, usually with Cirdan and Ardís. It was only as they pulled the little ship up the beach and moored her that Ereinion mentioned their earlier discussion once more.

"If Cirdan raised me before, he must have known me. Would I be wrong in thinking that he then knew you and possibly also of our friendship as you spoke of it last night?"

When Elrond replied that he was not wrong, Ereinion paused. He knotted the painter rope and then lifted wary eyes to Elrond. "Why then does he try to keep me from you?" he asked.

That the question was asked while the boat stood like a barrier between them and the distance to the house on fleet elvin feet was minimal, Elrond knew the younger elf to be troubled. The guarded expression moved Elrond to think with haste of words to soothe away the suspicion that was only natural and wise. Yet to see the suspicion directed his way pained him, for the familiar eyes had never before held such doubt of him. Even in the bleakest hours of their former acquaintance, when the world was swathed in shadow and Ereinion's eyes were scarred with wariness as a near permanent feature, never had such a look been turned upon Elrond, always it had softened to trust - and love. Anor, shut out your light if I can never behold that again, the former lord of Imladris silently asked. To lose him a second time or never to regain him does not bear contemplation.

"I would like to think that it is not personal," Elrond replied. "Cirdan is still concerned about you. I think he feels that you will remember too much if you spend time with me."

Ereinion perceptibly relaxed, sitting on the edge of the ship's bow with a sigh of annoyance. "It was my life," he protested. "Why should I not recall it?"

"I think," Elrond said with a sigh. "Cirdan is just worried, as Glorfindel was, that you will concentrate too much upon what has gone before and neglect the life you live now. And maybe..." He sighed again. "Maybe they are right."

Maybe you deserve a life that is not laden with the shadows of your past, such dark times did you see before. As did we all. Would that you could put them aside, for I cannot and you may witness in my misery the result of an age with shadows in my heart.

"No," Ereinion was adamant. "No, they are not, Elrond, we have talked of this. This life is strange and haunted with these memories..."  "Which you only discovered after I came here," Elrond said softly, guiltily.

Ereinion shook his head. "No, it is not so. Looking back now there were things before: sword skills picked up too quickly, little things in the main, but still there. I...I want to know who I was - and what you remember." He paused, offering Elrond a small, touching smile. "And perhaps I can put the past to rest. It is done and I cannot change it, but I cannot accept it and find peace from it until I remember it."

Calmed by the sentiments and the surprising wisdom with which they were spoken, Elrond smiled. "I am glad to hear you say it," he said.

Ereinion's sapphire eyes shone in the sunlight as the child looked up. He smiled briefly and then, falling into step with Elrond, continued. "I want to know more about my family, Elrond. I tire of this eternal procrastination. I am older than I was when I first came to you. I am more than old enough to hear of it."

Elrond realised then that even Glorfindel's warnings had come to nothing. All the elder elves, Cirdan and Glorfindel and himself alike, had served to do with their cautions had initially been to cause the child fear. Yet Ereinion would not run from his fears and instead chose to turn and confront them. Granted it had taken a little time, but he was yet young and still inexperienced in the ways of life. Looking at the stubborn set of the youngster's jaw and the determination glinting in the midnight eyes, Elrond knew Ereinion had come to a decision. If Elrond failed to rise to the occasion Ereinion was perfectly capable of seeking other ends to achieve his goal. Elrond nodded slowly.

"Very well. I will tell you what I know of your descent."

Elrond took a seat upon a rock a few yards from the water's edge and eyed the sea thoughtfully. He wondered briefly how wise it would be to speak of the kin-slayers in the presence of Osse and then chose to continue.

Valinor