Title: By the Grace of the Valar

Author: Morgana
Author's Email: morganalebeau@yahoo.com
Web page: http://www.paranoid.nl/avalon

Pairings for this part; Elrond/Celebrían, Erestor/Glorfindel, Lómion/Ereinion.

Overall rating: NC-17
Summary: Elfling Elladan loves Lindir best. Erestor and Mithrandir talk. Ecthelion makes an important decision. Lómion faces his past and is rewarded for doing so.

Disclaimer: Not mine, Tolkien’s.
Warning: AU of course!

Author’s Note: Completely AU. Plus, I am taking huge liberties with Erestor, Námo and his wife, Vairë. This story has the timeline from Hell, so you are warned! Additional note; Ereinion and Maeglin/Lómion were never an intended pairing, but I developed a soft spot for them!

Beta reading, translations and research by Patricia Pleasant, thanks! I couldn’t have written this story without your help!

All remaining mistakes are mine.

By the Grace of the Valar

Part 8

Lindir cradled Elladan against his chest. The baby was six months old and had become increasingly more energetic. At first, Elladan had been content to be held, but that had quickly changed. Elladan was now constantly crawling into dark corners, pulling at rugs and table cloths and whenever an adult was near, the baby found great delight in pulling the hair. “And now your eye color is changing as well.” It had begun a few days ago. The baby-blue had faded and instead light-gray had appeared, clearly marking him Elrond’s son.

Sitting next to Lindir was Erestor, who was tickling Elrohir’s side. The baby reacted with pleased shrieks and once the tickling stopped, Elrohir cooed for more.

“Later, pen neth¹,” said Erestor, who loved spending time with the twins. Although he loved both of them dearly, Elrohir was his favorite, as the younger twin wasn’t as naughty as Elladan, who frequently got himself into trouble with his sitter. “I never thought I would be ever holding an Elfling in my arms again,” admitted Erestor, feeling at ease in Lindir’s presence.

“You are thinking of Eärendil.” Lindir remembered the way Erestor had doted upon Idril’s son.

“Aye, Eärendil was a sweet child, whilst that one,” and Erestor pointed at Elladan, “will get us into all kinds of trouble.”

“I wonder if it is always this way with twins. I was thinking about Elrond and Elros the other day and I wondered if one of them was the naughty one, whilst the other was as sweet as Elrohir.” Lindir chuckled, feeling a wet, pink tongue lap at his finger. “I am not your Nana², pen-neth.”

“We will ask Elrond,” decided Erestor. “But we can inquire later. First, we need to return these little ones to their mother. They are hungry.” Erestor rose from the couch and held Elrohir protectively. Big blue-gray eyes looked at him in wonder and he smiled at the Elfling. And he asked himself; what did a child’s eyes see? Did they see the illusion Námo had created or did they see beyond that and were they aware of his real power? He hoped not, but the way the twins occasionally stared at him made him wonder. It was like their eyes saw something no one else saw.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mithrandir beamed with happiness, seeing Lindir and Erestor enter, carrying the twins in their arms. He hadn’t seen the babies yet and was eager to hold the new life in his own arms.

Erestor tensed, finding Mithrandir present in the couple’s private rooms. His eyes quickly sought out the Maia’s, and after probing them extensively, he reached the conclusion that he wasn’t in any danger. The Maia wasn’t here to expose him.

“Hand Elrohir to me,” said Celebrían, who knew with a mother’s instinct that her babies were hungry. “I can only feed one at a time. Mithrandir, maybe you would like to hold Elladan for a while?”

Lindir didn’t want to let go of the little one, but complied eventually and placed the Elfling in Mithrandir’s large arms.

Mithrandir giggled, pulled all kind of strange faces and laughed warmly when Elladan stuck out his tongue at him. “Oh, this one is feisty!”

Erestor had placed Elrohir in Celebrían’s arms and then went to join Mithrandir. “Be careful, he likes to pull at your hair.”

This time it was the beard though, and Mithrandir happily allowed it. “I see a lot of your husband in him, my Lady.”

Celebrían, who was now feeding Elrohir, nodded once. “Maybe too much? They inherited some of his most wicked traits, I am afraid.”

“Oh, Melethril ², you love my wicked streak! At least, you told me so!” Elrond entered and headed for the bed where Celebrían was feeding their son. He leaned in closer and pressed a passionate kiss on her lips. His large hand came to rest on his son’s head and he tenderly stroked the dark hair. It was true though; it seemed their sons had inherited his characteristics and none of his wife. The twins already sported hair as dark as his and the eyes were becoming more like his with every passing day. There was little of Celebrían in their features.

She gave her husband a warm smile. “Aye, I love all of you, Elrond, but now we have two little ones who are beginning to crawl and are set on creating havoc.”

Elrohir’s eyes fastened on his mother’s and whilst he continued to suckle he gave her an almost apologetic look, which made Elrond smile. “Maybe not the two of them, Melethril. Elrohir strikes me as the sensible one of the pair.” His sons’ fëar⁴ felt different to him. Whilst Elladan’s was bursting with energy and curiosity, Elrohir’s was calm and loving. The boys might look the same, but character-wise they were as different as they possibly could be.

Now that Elrohir had been fed, the gray eyes darkened with sleep and Elrond accepted the baby into his arms. Sitting down next to his wife, he smiled adoringly at his son.

Mithrandir rose from his chair and handed Elladan to Celebrían so she could feed the elder twin. Next, his gaze traveled to Erestor again. “A word, please?”

Growing tense once more, Erestor nodded. “Of course.”

“I should excuse myself as well,” said Lindir, who had promised to teach Melpomaen to play the lyre. But his gaze was drawn to Elladan once more. There was something about the baby that demanded he stayed close to protect and love him. Shaking his head, he tried to rid himself of these strange thoughts and then took his leave to seek out the young advisor.

Elrond and Celebrían didn’t even register they were alone with their offspring now, as Mithrandir and Erestor had left their rooms as well – they were too lost in each other and their bliss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Your secret is still safe with me,” said Mithrandir, sensing Erestor’s unease. “I am not here to tell Elrond who you truly are.”

Erestor allowed himself to feel a bit more at ease after being reassured and nodded once. “Thank you for your faith in me. But why are you here, then?”

“Except to congratulate Elrond and Celebrían and hold the twins in my arms?”

“I apologize,” said Erestor, softly. “I did not mean to imply that you did not care about them.”

“You and I are alike in many ways, Erestor,” replied Mithrandir after a moment’s thought. “We rejoice with them when they are happy, but we can never escape the fact that we are different. They belong to the Firstborn – and they are magnificent and immortal in their own right – but you and I, Erestor, are even *more* than that.”

Erestor nodded his head. “I understand what you are trying to say, but as long as I walk Arda, I am limited in my ways. I *am* one of the Firstborn.”

“But your soul is that of one of the Valar.” Mithrandir stopped walking, as they had reached Elrond’s library. He sat down and stretched his long legs. “You were right, of course. There is another reason for my visit here.”

Erestor cocked his head. “I do hope this has nothing to do with my father.”

“Námo?” Mithrandir frowned. “Do you expect for it to involve your father?”

“My father delights in manipulating me whenever he thinks it is for my benefit.”

“And you expect him to meddle again?” Mithrandir was curious to learn more about the relationship between father and son.

“I have not spoken to him for quite some time…” Time, that concept still baffled him, even after so many millennia.

“This has nothing to do with your father – but everything with Thranduil.”

Erestor frowned. “Thranduil?” He hadn’t expected that.

“Your efforts at placating him have worked. I spoke to Thranduil some weeks ago and his demeanor toward Imladris and Elrond has softened. Your letters had much to do with it. You showed him a side of Imladris Thranduil never expected to exist and now he is prepared to take the next step to improve relations between the two realms.”

Intrigued, Erestor listened closely. It was true, he had replied to every letter Thranduil had sent in a calm and compassionate manner and over the past months they had reached some measure of understanding. “What step?”

“As this is still a delicate matter to his people, Thranduil wants to advance carefully.” Mithrandir studied Erestor. When he had learned that Glorfindel and Erestor were in love and already bound, he had realized part of the reason why the Valar had returned, but still, some questions remained. Questions, which Erestor would never answer out of his own accord. Mithrandir knew that and had accepted it – for now.

“Carry on.” Erestor was growing curious.

“Thranduil is sending an emissary to find out if Elrond’s motives to befriend Mirkwood are true.”

“An emissary?”

“How much do you know of Thranduil?” asked Mithrandir, shifting on the chair to gain a more comfortable position.

“From his letters I can tell that he is still bitter and resentful toward Elrond – and all the Noldo – but he is also compassionate, otherwise he would not be willing to improve relations.”

“I was referring to his private circumstances,” clarified Mithrandir.

“Nothing.”

Mithrandir nodded once and then gestured for Erestor to sit down opposite him, which the raven-haired Elf did. “You are right; Thranduil is bitter and resentful. Those feelings also stopped him from committing to the one he loved. He never bound himself and therefore his son is illegitimate. Legolas can never truly inherit his father’s throne, but is Thranduil’s only heir and thus his successor. Even more importantly, Thranduil loves his son. In time, Legolas might be able to convince his father’s advisors of his qualities and they might look upon him more favorably. For now, he is a Prince without a throne.”

Erestor listened, captivated. He had never heard of Legolas before.

“Thranduil keeps Legolas’ existence a secret. Deep down in his heart, he knows he should have wed Legolas’ mother, but losing his father at the Battle of the Last Alliance made him unwilling to truly commit himself to another and Legolas is paying the price for his father’s fears.”

“This is all quite fascinating, but why are you telling me this?”

“Because Legolas is on his way to Imladris. His father has chosen him to test Elrond’s true motives before befriending Imladris.”

Erestor’s frown deepened. “This will create awkward situations.”

Mithrandir shook his head. “Do not worry if Legolas should receive a formal welcome or not or how he should be addressed. Thranduil does not want Elrond to know who Legolas is.”

Erestor nodded. “That was one aspect I was worrying about.”

“Legolas will arrive unnoticed. You will assign him rooms and allow him to explore. No one ever needs to know who he is or why he is here.” Mithrandir was confident this would work. “Once Legolas is convinced that Elrond’s motives are pure, he will report to his father, who will then hopefully visit Imladris himself, giving Elrond an opportunity to move their relationship forward.”

“I will do as you ask of me,” replied Erestor. “And I do hope this will improve relations between Imladris and Mirkwood. Both realms will need all the support they can get when the Ring surfaces again.” Erestor’s eyes widened; why had he said that? The Ring had disappeared!

Mithrandir sat up. “You have seen this?”

“I did not know it would surface until I said so. Over the years, my ability to see the future has weakened. I believe it is because I have not used my powers for so long.” He truly felt like one of the Firstborn!

“If the One Ring really will surface again, Sauron will awaken and gather his strength. We must prepare for that day!” Mithrandir’s being vibrated with energy. “I will not allow him to win this battle!”

“You do not stand alone,” replied Erestor. He would do whatever he could to defeat evil!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ecthelion found no peace of mind, wandering the Halls of Waiting. Several souls had offering him their companionship, but he had declined, feeling the need to be alone with his thoughts. The things he had learned from Ereinion and Námo had upended his world and he didn’t know how to deal with them. Maeglin was responsible for the death of many of his loved ones and it had been easy to hate the Elf for that. But now that he had seen Lómion, it wasn’t that easy to hate any more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I have every right to leave my room!” Eöl glared at Námo.

“You no longer have that right. That privilege has been taken away from you.” Námo returned the Dark Elf’s glare. “You have roamed my Halls too long already, making the other souls feel uncomfortable.”

“That is not the true reason.” Eöl’s eyes narrowed.

“That is none of your business.” Námo walked toward the doorway. “You only need to know that you are forbidden to leave your rooms ever again. Should you break this rule you *will* be punished.” His feelings almost overwhelmed him, as he realized how badly he wanted to punish Eöl for what he had done to Aredhel and Lómion.

Eöl watched Námo leave – he had no intention to obey the Vala.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lómion woke in Ereinion’s’ arms, feeling warm and protected. He blinked and then his eyes focused. Ereinion had fallen asleep spooned behind him, and the feel of a strong body behind him should have sparked ugly memories, but it didn’t. Strong? Warm? Solid? Lómion blinked again; he was a soul and so was Ereinion, so how was it possible for the former King to feel this real, pressed against him? Was he still dreaming? Aye, that had to be it. This was a dream – nothing but a dream!

“I am confident that Ecthelion will understand. Now that he has heard the tale of your life he needs time to accept what he has learned. He will look at you with different eyes, but you cannot expect instant change. Give him time.”

Not a dream, then. Ereinion’s words hit him like cold rain and they caused his memories to return. “You told him? You told him everything?” Shame crept over his charred skin and made him close his eyes in an attempt to shut out the truth. Now Ecthelion knew how he had allowed the dark Elf to use him! Ecthelion now had an additional reason to loathe and shun him!

Ereinion grew sad; sensing the direction Lómion’s thoughts had drifted off in. Maybe it was time to change the subject. “I am so relieved I found you in time. Why did you leave the safety of my rooms now that they can see you?”

Lómion admitted the truth before he realized what he was saying. “I do not want to infect you with my shame, disgrace and dishonor. They hate me and they will hate you too for sheltering me. You saw the way Ecthelion reacted when you took me into your arms. I refuse to be the reason they hate you.”

“Oh, Lómion!” Ereinion tightened his hold on the other soul and rested his chin on Lómion’s shoulder. “You should not worry about something like that! I can take care of myself! I can stand up against them if necessary!” He felt deeply touched that Lómion worried about him in that way! “You should focus on healing, meldir⁵.”

“But…” In spite of the tight hold, Lómion managed to turn in the embrace. They now lay facing each other and their dark eyes met.

“Lómion…” It was *then* that Ereinion realized Námo had spoken the truth. He *did* feel the first stirrings of a love as deep as he had felt for Lindir. There was something about Lómion that called out to him – that made him want to hold him forever and to kiss away the pain which had been inflicted on the other soul. /I love him…/ But it wasn’t the same passionate love he had shared with Lindir. This was different – this was soul-deep.

Lómion felt something too, but the emotion was unknown to him and he didn’t know how to label it. The only thing that came close to what he was feeling now was the way he had felt about his mother. He had done his best to love her, but the dark Elf had smothered that love. “I am afraid,” he whispered, off-guard.

Ereinion gave Lómion a reassuring smile. “I know you are, but there is no reason to be scared. Your life is changing for the better.”

“What am I feeling?” asked Lómion, feeling encouraged now that Ereinion seemed willing to address this. “Do you feel it too?”

Ereinion sighed; he hadn’t thought Lómion would call him on this so quickly. Was the other soul ready for a revelation? Looking into the dark, haunted eyes, Ereinion knew he wasn’t. “We are becoming friends, Lómion. We care deeply for each other’s well-being.”

Lómion didn’t know why, but the answer disappointed him. For one short moment he had hoped it could be more, but he would settle for having a friend – as he had never had one before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“May I enter?” Vairë stood in doorway, waiting for the White Lady of the Noldor to bid her to enter. Her husband had asked her to talk to Aredhel and she had agreed, realizing this was the right way to approach the mourning soul.

Aredhel was surprised to see the Vala and quickly rose from her chair. She had been staring into the fire and had reflected on her life, which had been a chain of misfortune, wrong choices and regrets. “Of course, my Lady.” She bowed respectfully and her white and silver dress moved elegantly with her as she walked toward the Vala. “Though I must admit I am surprised to see you here.”

“We need to talk.” Vairë studied the soul and saw the pain – the wish to undo her horrid past. Aye, Aredhel still wanted to make amends. “I am here to discuss Lómion.” 

Aredhel tripped and reached for the wall to steady herself. “That is a name I have not heard for millennia.” She had often thought about her son – whom she had loved, whom she had died for. If only she could have kept him safe!

“Seat yourself, Aredhel.” Vairë moved forward and assisted Aredhel.

Aredhel stared at the Weaver in surprise. “Why would you wish to discuss my unfortunate son?” Námo had visited with her after the Fall of Gondolin and had told her about the Valar’s ruling – she knew that her son was doomed to roam these Halls and she had even gone looking for him, but she had never found him. That was part of his punishment – and of hers.

Vairë seated herself opposite Aredhel and chose her words very carefully. “Manwë and Eru have discussed your son’s fate and they reached a decision. There have been some changes.”

“Changes?” Aredhel scooted closer and balanced precariously on the edge of her chair. “What kind of changes?”

Vairë gave Aredhel a look full of understanding. “We are both mothers, Aredhel. We suffer when our child is in pain.”

Aredhel’s eyes darkened with sympathy. She had heard of Erestor’s return to Arda and knew Vairë missed having her son close – she knew this because she missed having Lómion close.

“But I am not here to discuss Erestor,” said Vairë, firmly. “I am here to talk about Lómion. The terms of his stay here have changed. He is no longer invisible to the eye.”

Aredhel’s soul filled with hope. “I can see him now? If I go looking for him, will I find him? Will I be able to hold and comfort him? Oh, my Lady, I understand why the Valar punished him, for his deeds were dark, but I am his mother. I love him – still.”

Vairë nodded once. “I know you still love him. You died for him.”

Aredhel was overcome with emotion and memories. “It was my last and only way to make amends – at least, that was what I believed at the time. I threw myself in the spear’s path and saved his life. But, there were times when I wondered if I did the right thing. Maybe I should have let him die. That would have been kinder – but I am his mother. I had to stop the Dark Elf from taking his son’s life.”

Vairë placed her hand atop of Aredhel’s, comforting the lost soul. “Eru’s will shall be done and the fact that you died and he lived was according to Eru’s will.”

“But still – if my son had died, he could not have betrayed Gondolin! I am to blame for their deaths, not my son! Not my Lómion!” Tears appeared in her eyes and she quickly wiped them away. “I should have been punished! Not my son!”

Vairë squeezed Aredhel’s hand. Her husband was right; not only Lómion needed closure; his mother needed it as well. “Would you like to see him? Talk to him and hold him?”

“Can I?” Big, wounded eyes looked up, leaking more tears.

“Aye, you can.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ereinion woke with a start, feeling Lómion slipping away from him. Determined not to let the other soul get away a second time, he quickly sat up. “Where are you going?”

Lómion’s black robes hid the troubled soul inside from view, as he sat down in front of the fireplace, his burned flesh hidden beneath the hood. “I do not feel on fire any longer.” The sensation had gone away some time ago, but only now had he grown aware of it. “The flames no longer burn me.”

Ereinion fought back tears at hearing those words. “Does that lessen your suffering?” He left the bed as well and sat down beside Lómion, on the floor.

Lómion shrugged his shoulders once. “The pain has gone away, but not my suffering. I will always carry my guilt with me -- these black robes themselves speak of the horrible crime I committed.”

“That is in the past. It is time to let go.” Ereinion loosely wrapped an arm around his charge.

“My past will always haunt me. My past is my present and also my future.” Lómion was growing desperate. “It does not matter what I do – I will always be Maeglin, the traitor.” He rested his weary head against Ereinion’s shoulder, soaking up the other soul’s affection for him. “But, in one aspect you were right. Things *have* changed; I have a friend now. I never had one before.” Lómion lifted his head and made eye-contact. “I do not know how to be a friend in turn. Please be patient with me.”

For one moment something passed between them. It was a look of love, promises, surrender and true understanding. Ereinion even began to lean in closer so he could touch his lips to Lómion’s, but then the door opened and a vision in white dashed into the room, pulling Lómion away from him. Ereinion was about to rise from the floor and to come to Lómion’s defense when a female’s voice cut through the room.

“Lómion!” Aredhel flung herself at her son, enfolded him in a motherly hug and held him close. “I finally found you!”

Lómion was shocked to find his mother this close. He had tried approaching her when he had first walked these Halls, but he had failed. As a result, he had accepted the fact that he would never be able to speak to her – that she would never hold him in her arms again – that he would never be able to ask her forgiveness. And now she was here. Aredhel was holding him close, even rocking him like she had done when he had been little. “Nana?”

Ereinion blinked in surprise, hearing that little word. A presence moved closer and he almost expected it to be Námo, but when he looked up, he found it was Vairë standing at his side and not the Doomsman of the Valar.

Seeing Ereinion’s questioning gaze, Vairë explained in a soft voice, so as not to disturb the reunion between mother and son. “The time has come for them to find redemption and forgiveness, don’t you agree?”

“This is Aredhel? His mother?”

“Aye, this is Lómion’s mother. Aredhel gave up hope to ever be reunited with her son, but your love made it possible. Your unselfish love, sire,” replied Vairë and a smile graced her ethereal features. “Like my husband, I also hoped that they would find salvation one day.”

Aredhel couldn’t stop the tears from leaving her eyes at seeing the damage the fire had done to her son’s once smooth features. “It is you, Lómion.” During his childhood she had sensed the change he had gone through, and she had seen Maeglin take over little by little. His father’s heritage had begun to show in her son and the Dark Elf had tried to mold Maeglin after him. But that was in the past. This was Lómion. She sensed his love for her – the love of a child for his mother. “I have you back.”

Lómion wasn’t as strong as his mother and he shed tears. Tears, which were bitter because of their suffering and the shame that he felt now that she was looking at him and happy because he was finally allowed close to her. “Nana, I am so sorry… So very sorry for being weak… for all the mistakes I made… I was not as strong as you were… You should not have died for me… I am not worth such a sacrifice!”

Aredhel was the strong one then – strong enough for the both of them – and just held him close at first. When she spoke, it was in a loving voice. “I am your mother, Lómion. I gave birth to you. I gave you your name. I love you.” Her son’s sobbing intensified and Aredhel rested her chin on his shoulder, trying to offer as much support as she could. “It was not your fault, and you know it.”

“Nay! I should have killed him when I had the chance! Instead, I let him do as he pleased!” He sobbed against the silver and white of her dress, hiding his face in her dark hair.

“That would have made you a kinslayer, ion⁶. You were a child when you were confronted with his true nature and you tried to survive.”

“Did we survive, Nana? Did we?” Lómion pressed as close as possible, preventing her from making eye-contact. He felt too ashamed to meet her gaze!

“We survived, Lómion. We are here now – holding each other, are we not? I love you, ion.”

“How can you love me still? I caused your death!” He fought her, feeling her fingers slip beneath his chin in an effort to lift it so she could look into his eyes. But he couldn’t fight her for long and raised his head – however, he first closed his eyes before giving in to her.

Ereinion swore that even the dead still possessed a heart, for he felt his break at that moment. “Oh, open your eyes, meldir. Can you not sense her love for you?” Lómion really expected his mother to reject him and that realization hurt! 

Telling herself to be strong for her son’s sake, Aredhel refused to shed the tears swimming in her eyes. “He is right. Open your eyes, ion.”

Lómion eventually did and looked at her with shame and trepidation in his eyes. “You cannot love me still, Nana. You know what I did – what I have become.”

“I do not judge you, Lómion. I only love you. Please understand.” She leaned in closer and pressed a loving kiss onto her son’s burned flesh.

His eyes widened, feeling her lips touch his brow. “You do?”

“I do. Lómion, I never blamed you for anything. You did the best you could under the worst circumstances. You were doomed to fail.”

Tears clung to Lómion’s eyelashes. “I felt like that many times – I was doomed to fail. I really was, wasn’t I?”

Ereinion and Aredhel’s gazes met. It was the White Lady of the Noldor who spoke the freeing words. “Aye, you were, ion. But now, you can start all over again. The time has come to forgive yourself.”

“Do you forgive me, then?”

“There is nothing to forgive,” replied Aredhel, who had lost her fight against her tears. They now flowed freely down her cheeks. “But I also know that you need to hear these words. I forgive you, Lómion. And now the time has come for you to forgive yourself.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ecthelion?”

The Lord of the Fountain had been wandering the Halls for what seemed forever and came to a halt, hearing Vairë’s lovely, melodic voice. “My Lady?” Why had she sought him out?

“Would you hang this tapestry on the wall for me?” Vairë handed him the tapestry she had just finished.

“Of course, my Lady.” Ecthelion stretched and attached the tapestry to the wall. He smiled, seeing the lovely scene it displayed. “Elrond has become a father, then?”

“Aye, the babies are strong and it won’t be long before they will drive their parents mad.” She carefully monitored his reaction when she spoke next. “Elladan and Elrohir are lovely babies.”

“What?” Ecthelion’s gaze shifted from the tapestry to her and probed her silver eyes.

“Elladan and Elrohir. Elladan is Elrond’s firstborn and Elrohir is his younger brother.”

“Elrohir…” Ecthelion couldn’t believe this was happening. “He has been born, then.” Just when he had been about to give up hope, the Elf, who Erestor and Námo had predicted would become his lover, had been born. “But if he is Elrond’s son, then he is a half-Elf.”

“Aye, he is.” Vairë smiled, kindly, seeing realization in his eyes. “Do not worry – his destiny lies with the Firstborn. When his time comes he will choose to belong to the Firstborn and not the Race of Man. It is safe to love him.”

Ecthelion lowered his eyes. “But my Lady… Elrohir is alive and I am dead… Our love can never be!” That last spark of hope that had warmed him from within flickered and then almost died.

Vairë shook her head and took hold of his wrist. “Listen to me, Captain of the House of the Fountain. Erestor and Námo spoke the truth when they told you that Elrohir will be your lover. You have to be patient a little longer.”

“And wait for him to die? Is that it?” Anger colored Ecthelion’s voice. “Will I spend the rest of my existence here hoping that my intended will die? How can I do that? What kind of love would that be?”

“He is only a baby right now, Ecthelion, and you have waited for so long. Can you not wait a little longer and let destiny take its course?” She squeezed his hand, hoping to encourage him. “Have some faith in Elrohir – in Erestor and my husband. We mean well.”

Ecthelion nodded his head once. “I feel like I have lost my hope and my faith, but I will cling to the little that remains a while longer.” Her arms suddenly went around his middle, hugging him close and that move surprised him. “My Lady?”

“Accept what is given, Ecthelion. Do not question everything that much.”

“I will try.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aredhel had returned to her rooms moments ago, leaving a severely distressed Lómion in Ereinion’s care.

“How do you fare, meldir?” They still sat in front of the fireplace and Ereinion probed Lómion’s dark eyes. His charge had moved away from him and their bodies no longer made contact. It was obvious that Lómion was inner conflicted and fighting a private battle. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, when no answer was forthcoming.

“I do not understand how she can forgive me. I failed her so miserably. I should have kept him out of her bed, and yet…” Lómion pulled his black robes close and hid deeper away in the shadow of his hood. “Why couldn’t I keep her safe?”

“You were a child, Lómion. Your father used you and your mother. Neither of you stood a chance.” Ereinion inched closed. “Your mother is right; you need to forgive yourself.”

“How do I do that?” asked Lómion, lifting swimming eyes. “I made so many mistakes! I did not end the Dark Elf’s life when I had the chance… I betrayed Gondolin to Morgoth… I even tried to take Eärendil’s life!” Feeling miserable, Lómion broke eye contact. 

Ereinion was lost for words – what was he to reply? “Meldir, it was not your fault. You tried to survive the best way you could and when you happened upon Idril, your father had already poisoned your mind. You are no longer the Elf you were in life. You are a different person now. Your mother gave sound advice when she said that you needed to forgive yourself and to start all over again. You missed out on your childhood. You missed out on so much!”

“How do I do that?”

”You allow for it to happen.” Ereinion gave Lómion an encouraging smile. “And always remember, you do not have to do this alone. You have me now.”

“You?” And suddenly, that magical feeling was back and the air between them sizzled with energy.

“Aye, you have me now.” Ereinion was finally close enough to rest his brow against Lómion’s. “Just let it happen.”

“I do not know if I have the strength to do that,” said Lómion, breathlessly. He had never desired to kiss anyone in his life, not even Idril – until now. He wanted to kiss Ereinion and understand what it felt like to kiss and be kissed. But he could never take that step. He didn’t deserve Ereinion.

Ereinion read all that and more in the tormented dark eyes. Instinctively, he sought out Lómion’s lips, bestowing a gentle kiss on them. Lómion’s eyes widened dramatically, making Ereinion smile. “I thought you wanted to be kissed, so I kissed you. Am I wrong?”

“Nay, you are not… I wanted to be kissed, but…” He hadn’t thought himself capable of blushing, but he did. Lómion squirmed and wrung his hands. “I do not deserve you.”

“I beg to differ,” whispered Ereinion, wrapping Lómion in his arms once more. “You *do* deserve me.”

Now what was he supposed to say to that? Nothing. Lómion stayed quiet instead and enjoyed having Ereinion close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where is Elladan?” Elrond frowned, finding his son’s crib empty. Elrohir was soundly asleep in the other crib, sucking his thumb. The Elflings were one year old now and could crawl for large distances. Elladan was even trying to walk, but without much result. They had also begun to speak and not surprisingly their first word had been Nana, shortly followed by Ada⁷. The next word Elrohir had mastered had been ‘read’, meaning he wanted them to read him stories. Amazingly, Elladan’s third word had been Lindir.

Elrond had quickly noticed that his firstborn was taken with the white-haired Elf. Elladan would crawl after the minstrel when possible, or sneak up onto his lap. Lindir had been embarrassed at first, as he thought Elrond and Celebrían would be hurt because of the interest the child showed him, but the couple had only smiled and allowed Elladan to do as he pleased.

“Did you manage to climb out of your crib?” He had thought it would take his firstborn longer to escape the confines of his cradle. Elrond made certain Elrohir was safe and soundly asleep and then set out to find his elusive son.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One moment he had been asleep, the next, he had woken because something strange was moving about on his bed. Lindir’s blue eyes filled with awareness and he searched for the source of the strange movement beneath the sheet. It almost seemed like a cat was crawling toward him, using the sheet as cover. But when a head peeked out from beneath the sheet, he realized it wasn’t a cat, but an Elfling. “What are you doing here, Elladan?”

Looking smug, Elladan sat cross-legged and looked adoringly at Lindir. Next, his short, chubby arms lifted and he reached for his favorite Elf. “Lindir!”

Lindir sighed. “What do I do with you?” He caught the child in his arms and cradled him close. “You cannot do this! Your poor parents are probably panicking, finding your crib empty!”

But that didn’t impress Elladan. “Sing… for me?” he asked hopefully.

Lindir gave the Elfling a warm smile. Ever since Elladan had learned to talk, the child would ask him to sing. “It is in the middle of the night – you should be asleep, and so should I.”

“Sleep here?” suggested Elladan, who felt comfortable, snuggled up to Lindir’s chest.

“Nay, pen neth. “I need to return you to your parents.” Lindir slowly rose from his bed, carrying Elladan in his arms.

Elladan pouted. “Wanna stay here!”

“You cannot,” said Lindir in a mildly chiding tone. He opened the door and was about to step into the doorway when he found Elrond already standing there – blocking his path.

“Ah, I thought I would find him here!” Elrond shook his head, immediately recognizing Elladan’s stubborn expression when his son glared at him. “You cannot stay with Lindir at night. All Elflings need to sleep in their cradle – like your brother does right now.” He opened his arms and noticed the reluctance with which Elladan moved into them. It was obvious that Elladan wanted to stay with Lindir instead of his father. /I wonder why./ But that question had to wait, as he had to return Elladan to his crib first.

“I never encouraged him to seek me out,” said Lindir, who fell into step beside Elrond.

“I know you did not. My son has a stubborn streak which will doubtlessly get him into trouble many times in his life,” replied Elrond. He just hoped that there was always someone there to get Elladan out of said trouble again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where are my grandsons?” Celeborn poked his head around the door and looked into the empty nursery. He had arrived yesterday, but as it had been in the middle of the night he had waited until this morn to seek out his grandchildren.

Celebrían smiled at her father. “We will probably find them making a mess of my husband’s papers in his study. They love to go there and play underneath his desk.”

Celeborn opened his arms and hugged his daughter close. He studied her, and was relieved to find that she had grown strong again after giving birth to the twins. Galadriel and he had visited a few weeks after the twins had been born and their daughter had looked feeble and weak back then. But Elrond was an excellent healer and had made sure that his wife had made a full recovery. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you, Ada.” She wrapped an arm around his middle and began to lead him toward Elrond’s study so he could visit with his grandchildren. “I am always glad to have you near.” She missed parts of her life in the Golden Wood – she missed having her parents close especially.

Celeborn sensed the question his daughter wanted to ask, but didn’t voice. “Your mother stayed in the Golden Wood to look after our people.” They both knew the white lie for what it was. Galadriel had grown averse to traveling these last few centuries. Now that Celebrían was happily married and had found a home in Imladris, Galadriel preferred to stay at home. “She loves you still.”

“I know she does.” Galadriel had been a good mother, but always a tad distant. At first, she had thought it was because of the Ring of power she carried, but Celebrían had realized she had been wrong when she had met Elrond. It was in Galadriel’s nature to be distant. Often, she wondered how her father had managed to warm Galadriel’s heart enough for her to accept him as her husband. But that wasn’t her business and she wasn’t going to meddle in their marital life.

“How do the boys fare?” asked Celeborn.

“They are two years old now and can easily walk long distances. Elrohir has mastered more words than Elladan, but Elladan excels at pulling pranks.”

Celeborn smiled warmly. “Enjoy their pranks whilst they last. They will grow up much too quickly as it is.”

She returned his smile and then opened the door to Elrond’s study. “We have a visitor,” she announced, whilst making her way over to her husband.

Elrond looked up and grinned. “I need reinforcements. Elrohir has managed to get his hands on next week’s duty roster and won’t let us have it.”

Amused, Celeborn took in the scene before him. The crime scene was the old wooden desk. Seated on his chair, head stuck beneath the desk, Elrond was trying to regain possession of said document, whilst Glorfindel was on his hands and knees underneath the desk, chasing the twins. “Ah, boys, give them the roster and I will take you to the Bruinen for a swim!” It was his prerogative as a grandfather to only do fun activities with the twins and to leave the disciplining to the parents. 

“Iauradar⁸!” Elrohir had identified their grandfather’s voice first and dropped the roster. His short legs carried him surprisingly quickly when he dashed out from beneath the desk and ran toward Celeborn.

Elladan, who had the habit of catching on moments after Elrohir, grinned, and realized who had come to visit. Dodging Glorfindel’s hands, which reached for him, he maneuvered out of harm’s way and ran after his twin.

“At last!” Glorfindel sighed, deeply, and curled his fingers tightly around the document. “Eeew, he drooled on it!”

“I do not drool!” called out Elrohir, feeling safe and secure in his grandfather’s presence.

Celeborn lifted the twins and settled them in his arms. “My, you have grown!”

“We are big Elflings now,” replied Elladan smugly.

Elrond secured the roster and then rose to greet his wife and father-in-law. “Great, now we have an additional sitter. Celeborn can look after them today.” Celebrían gave him a radiant smile and he kissed her, sweetly. “That means we can finally go for that walk in the gardens I promised you days ago.” He loved his sons dearly, but they were a handful and kept them occupied for most of the day.

Celeborn smiled and tickled Elladan. “Take all the time you need, Elrond. The twins and I will keep ourselves entertained, won’t we?” Two little heads nodded enthusiastically.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glorfindel was nervous, which was surprising, considering the fact that he had given Erestor binding anniversary presents before, but it felt different this year. They had been reunited and had renewed their love, but in the back of his mind he was still afraid that something unexpected would happen and take his beloved away a second time.

Erestor and he had been extremely happy these last two years. Last year, he had intended to give Erestor a special present, but then the twins had been born and mayhem had ensued. He wanted to make up for last year and nervously looked at the black jewelry box sitting on the table. The door opened and Erestor entered, making Glorfindel straighten his shoulders and rise from the chair. “Meleth⁹…” 

Erestor blinked once. “Glorfindel?” When he had left their rooms this morn, they had looked different! Everywhere he looked were scented candles, warmly illuminating their rooms. Delicious looking food sat waiting for him on the table, the covers of the bed were already turned down and Glorfindel only wore a thin, silk nightshirt, which left little to the imagination. Oh, how he loved his beloved for doing things like this!

“Come into my arms, Erestor.” Glorfindel opened his arms and easily caught his lover in them. Erestor pressed close against him. “Last year we did not have the chance to celebrate our binding anniversary and…”

“I did not forget what day it is today,” said Erestor, looking at Glorfindel and pressing even closer. “But I simply did not know what present would be suitable this year. I do not have a gift to give you.”

“You already gave me the greatest gift of all when you returned to me.”

Erestor fingered the locket, which held a strand of his hair. “I was so afraid to approach you when you did not recognize me. I do not know if my heart would have survived had you not remembered me eventually.”

Glorfindel palmed the back of Erestor’s head and gently forced his lover to rest his head against a shoulder. “That is in the past. We are together now.”

Erestor smiled against the silk fabric of his beloved’s shirt. Hard flesh pressed against his thigh and he purred, softly.

“Not yet,” said Glorfindel, chuckling. “First, I want to give you this.” He loosened the embrace enough for him to pick up the box and to present it to his beloved. “Open it.”
 

Erestor had received many gifts from Glorfindel for this occasion and he could always count on the fact that his lover would gift him something special. Opening the box, he sucked in his breath.

Erestor’s reaction pleased Glorfindel, who took the present from the box. “The circlet is made from spun gold, but it also has some of my hair in it. The goldsmith melted the gold and then added strands of my hair.” The circlet resembled finely braided hair and was masterly wrought. “You would honor me by wearing it.”

Tears of bliss escaped Erestor’s eyes, who quickly nodded his head. “It is beautiful, and the fact that it has your hair in it makes it even more special.”

“Turn around, meleth.” After Erestor had done so, Glorfindel placed the thin circlet on his lover’s raven hair and braided dark locks around the circlet.

Erestor used this moment to wipe away his tears. Glorfindel’s agile fingers moved through his hair, weaving black and gold together. Once his lover was finished, Erestor turned around again and kissed Glorfindel passionately. “I want you, meleth. I will want you for the rest of my life. You are the only one for me.” 

“Then take me and make me yours. I was hoping you would say that and I even prepared myself for you. The only thing you need to do is to claim me.” Glorfindel looked expectantly at his beloved. “I need to feel you thrusting inside of me.”

Erestor was already in the process of undoing the lacing of his leggings and freeing himself. His erection eagerly bobbed free and glistened with pre-ejaculate. In a fit of passion and need he swept the food items aside, creating space on the table. “Hop on, meleth.”

Glorfindel eagerly complied. Seated on the brink of the table, he watched Erestor predatorily step up to him. There was lust and desire in the dark eyes, which made the blood in his veins burn and yearn for more.

“Lie down.” Erestor eased Glorfindel onto his back, tore the nightshirt in two and bared his lover to his lusty eyes and eager fingers. He positioned himself at the entrance to his lover’s body and inched inside. Hearing Glorfindel groan in need, he locked his hands beneath Glorfindel’s knees, lifting and supporting the long legs.

Glorfindel moaned – he needed Erestor to claim him now! And then that first delicious thrust came, touching him deep inside.

Erestor bit his bottom lip in concentration, trying to hit his lover’s pleasure gland with each deep stroke. Seeing Glorfindel in such sweet surrender made him want to possess his lover and the thrusts became fast and deep. “Touch yourself,” he commanded, regretting the fact that he needed his hands to support his lover’s legs or else he would have brought Glorfindel to orgasm himself.

Glorfindel wrapped his fingers around his hard flesh and stroked in tune with Erestor’s possessive thrusts. It didn’t take him long to reach orgasm and warm cream erupted from the slit. “Erestor!”

With a grunt, Erestor buried himself deep inside the blond Elf and then stilled, allowing the contractions to bring him to orgasm. Glorfindel’s inner muscle massaged his length and he threw back his head and called out his beloved’s name, finding release as well.

Dazed by their intense lovemaking, Glorfindel lifted his head and looked at Erestor, who still rode the last waves of passion. There was a connection between them – he saw it at that moment. A strong, golden cord that bound them.

Erestor quivered over his entire body and then collapsed atop of his lover. His hands slipped away and Glorfindel’s legs tumbled to the floor. But he was still inside his lover and he grunted again, shoving deeper with one last stroke. His lips sought and found Glorfindel’s. Lips opened and teeth parted. Erestor tasted Glorfindel like he had never tasted him before and the sensation almost burned him. The intensity of their lovemaking would never cease to amaze him. They *did* belong together!

Glorfindel yelped the moment Erestor pulled out, leaving him empty and cold. “Meleth…” He felt strangely weak and drained and the table was far from being a comfortable resting place. He hadn’t noticed it in the moment of their passion, but the wood chafed his skin.

Erestor sensed his lover’s discomfort and lifted the blond Elf in his arms, carrying him over to their bed, where he deposited him in the center. He quickly got into bed as well and spooned behind Glorfindel, pulling him close and deeply inhaling the fragrance of roses that clung to the golden hair. “I love you.”

Already half asleep, Glorfindel smiled and nodded, happily. Erestor’s loving would leave him sore in the morning, but he wouldn’t want it otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Námo didn’t reveal his presence to his son. Erestor and Glorfindel had just made love and he didn’t want to disturb them. He watched them sleep, pressed close and still carrying the signs of satiation on their faces. As a Vala, Námo had often wondered what making love was like, but for him to experience that he would have to take on the body of one of the Firstborn and he could never do that. His duties to the souls would always come first. “Be happy, Erestor… for as long as it will last.” He leaned in closer and pressed a fatherly kiss on his son’s dark hair. The next moment, he was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

/Do not do this, stay!/

/I cannot. I need to talk to her… I need to make certain that she has truly forgiven me./ Lómion didn’t really want to leave Ereinion’s rooms, but Aredhel’s visit had left him with questions. His mother had departed too quickly and he longed to have her close once more.

Ereinion was still asleep on the bed, and although Lómion recalled what had happened the last time he had left, that didn’t stop him now. He just had to be extremely careful not to be noticed. He would sneak down the corridors and stay away from the other souls.

“I will be back shortly,” he promised, looking at the sleeping Elf. Ereinion had unleashed emotions inside him, which he thought he didn’t possess it. Was he really capable of love? Did he love Ereinion? Was that the strange feeling that tickled his being? Could a soul fall in love? And did Ereinion love him back? He had kissed him, hadn’t he? /Too many questions!/

Lómion pushed the door ajar and stepped into the empty corridor. It struck him how different this felt from the way he had walked the Halls when he had still been invisible to the other souls. He had been able to go everywhere, not worrying about their reaction to them. Now he had to move stealthily and watch his every step.

He had to seek out the protective darkness of corners many times, as souls drifted toward him and he was forced to hide. He was slowly beginning to understand how utterly stupid it had been to leave Ereinion’s rooms, as he didn’t even know the location of his mother’s chambers! And the longer he was forced to wander these Halls, the larger the risk of discovery became!

Ecthelion hadn’t talked to him since Ereinion had told him his sad tale and Lómion was determined to stay out of the Lord of the Fountain’s path. Ereinion might understand why he had done the things he had done, but he doubted anyone else would.

Lost in thought, Lómion made the mistake of turning left instead of right and suddenly found himself in the main Hall. A large gathering of souls sat near the fireplace and one of them looked into his direction. Caught off-guard, Lómion returned the gaze and then yelped in distress.

Turgon, the former ruler of Gondolin, rose from his chair and pointed an accusing finger at him. “You!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ecthelion stared at the latest tapestry Vairë had woven. It depicted Celeborn and the twins, playing in the shallow parts of the Bruinen. It was hard to imagine that Elrohir, a mere Elfling, was his intended mate. “How can this be?” he whispered, off-guard. “He is a child and I am dead.”

“Time will bring the two of you together.” Námo had chosen his words carefully. Words, which should have said, ‘Time and *death* will bring the two of you together.’ But he didn’t want to upset Ecthelion further. “Why don’t you find enjoyment and pleasure in watching him grow up?”

Ecthelion shrugged his shoulders once. Námo’s unexpected visits no longer surprised him. The Vala and his wife had a habit of doing so and he had stopped questioning those visits some time ago. “The only way for us to be together is for him to die or for me to be reborn.”

“You are not destined to be reborn, Ecthelion.”

“You told me so before.” Ecthelion’s eyes carried a troubled expression, looking at the tapestry. “I do not want him to die. I want him to live.”

“That is not your decision to make,” said Námo. “What lies in Eru’s will shall be done.”

“I often wondered,” started Ecthelion, “do you feel anything when you collect souls and take them here? Do you feel regret? Or contentment?”

“I carry out my duties, Lord of the Fountain. I do as much as I can to make you souls feel comfortable here.”

“Aye, you go to great lengths to accommodate our wishes.” Ecthelion tore his gaze away from the tapestry and looked into Námo’s eyes instead. “You, my Lord, are a riddle.”

Námo laughed, warmly. “I am?”

“Aye, you are. You allowed Erestor to return to Arda and he is happy with Glorfindel once more.” Ecthelion pointed at another tapestry, showing the two Elves asleep in each other’s arms. “You take care of us souls and you are compassionate. You even allowed Maeglin a chance to redeem himself.”

“Have you given this matter some thought? Lómion needs more friends – your support.”

Ecthelion nodded once. “I have been thinking about him almost constantly. And although I understand his suffering as a child, I cannot find it in my heart to forgive him.”

“Forgive Lómion or Maeglin?”

“It is hard for me to make that difference.”

“But you should.” Námo gestured for Ecthelion to walk with him, as he started for the doorway. “For Lómion is a scared child and about to face his worst nightmare.”

Ecthelion wanted to inquire after that cryptic remark, but then a keening wail echoed through the Halls and Námo was gone once more. His instincts kicked in, telling him to find the source of that wail and he broke into a run. Another scream sounded and this time he realized it originated from the main hall. /It must be Maeglin. Why else would Námo give me that cryptic warning?/  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lómion panicked; encountering Turgon and the Elves who had died defending Gondolin was his worst nightmare and he tried to run. He tripped over his robes and then greedy hands reached for him. He fell, and the souls who had caught him dragged him further into the hall. They smite him before Turgon and spat upon him, glaring at him with hatred in their eyes.

“The traitor of Gondolin,” sneered Turgon, who stood majestically among his people. “I often wondered if I would receive the chance to personally punish you for your vile deeds.”

“I died because of you! And so did my wife!” screamed one soul in an accusing voice.

“My child was killed in the fire! She was only two years old! You killed her, murderer,” accused another.

Lómion was forced into a kneeling position and one of them grabbed hold of his hood, pulling it back. Another hand reached for the singed hair and pulled at it – hard – forcing him to lift his head and to look into Turgon’s eyes.

“You were in league with Morgoth,” continued Turgon. “He promised you my daughter and you accepted. I nursed a viper at my bosom! You betrayed me! Us!”

Tears fought to surface, but Lómion forced them back. He refused to cry in their presence! “I am sorry,” he whispered, already knowing they wouldn’t listen to him as hatred blinded them. They had waited for so long to finally punish him and punish him they would!

“Words! You are a snake, Maeglin! A traitor!”

Lómion saw Turgon raise his right hand and was prepared for the blow. The former king slapped him hard and his head reeled from the impact.

Now that Turgon had let go of his rage the other souls followed suit. Soon, boots were kicking him in the back, side, stomach, and head. Fists descended onto him, leaving him black and blue. They cursed him, spat at his fallen form, and all he could do was wait for the punishment to end. /I deserve this,/ he thought, releasing the tears from his eyes. /Ereinion was wrong./

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ecthelion’s eyes narrowed; Turgon and the nobles of Gondolin seemed to have lost their mind and were pummeling the fallen form at their feet. The black robes, blistered skin and hair quickly told him that he was dealing with Maeglin. He came to an abrupt stop, shocked to see the viciousness with which they beat the fallen soul. The hood had been pushed down and Ecthelion saw the face, contracted with pain and shame. Then, unexpectedly, those features made way for those of the Elfling he had seen in Ereinion’s rooms.

It had taken Ecthelion long to make up his mind in this matter. Although he felt deeply for what Maeglin had gone through as a child, he had always clung to the need to hate the other Elf for his deeds. But when Námo had shown him the real Lómion, it had become harder for him to hate Maeglin. And now that he stood watching this horrid scene, he realized the choice he had to make. His hatred of Maeglin was still there, but he also understood that this soul wasn’t the same Elf he had known at Turgon’s court. It was the eyes that convinced him – eyes that locked with his whilst a particularly brutal blow impacted against Lómion’s temple. “Stop! Stop it!”

Lómion didn’t hear Ecthelion’s voice at first, as he had raised his arms and was trying to shield his head from their blows and kicks. But then, suddenly, the beating stopped.

Turgon’s eyes shot flame, finding Ecthelion running toward him. The Lord of the Fountain came to a halt in front of him, blocking his path, so he couldn’t touch Maeglin any longer. “Have you lost your mind? Don’t you know who this is?”

“Nay!” called out Ecthelion in a strong voice. “It is *you* who lost your mind! What are you doing? It is one thing to raise your hand at him.” And he should know, as he had done so himself, and he still felt ashamed because of it. “But it is another thing to beat him into submission! You are a King, Turgon! Act like it!” The blow that struck his face stunned Ecthelion. “You hit me!”

“Ecthelion, come to your senses! This is Maeglin, the traitor! How can you defend him?” Still enraged, Turgon eyed Ecthelion predatorily. “We fantasized about punishing him! We even thought up several punishments for the traitor!”

Ecthelion had never felt more ashamed of himself, meeting Lómion’s big and frightened eyes. Lómion had curled himself in a tight ball and the scared eyes pleadingly looked toward him for help. “Aye, we did,” he admitted in a choked tone. “I was blinded by hatred back then.”

Lómion stared helplessly at Ecthelion. Had the Lord of the Fountain really come to his rescue? Or would Turgon’s words change Ecthelion’s mind?

“Step away from him, sire.” Ecthelion laid every ounce of his authority in his gaze when he looked upon Turgon next.

Turgon took a step away, annoyed that Ecthelion managed to make him give him in. “You are protecting a murderer!”

“Nay, I am not.” And for the first time, Ecthelion understood what Ereinion had tried to explain to him. “I am protecting an Elfling – an innocent.” He extended his right hand and hoped Lómion would trust him. “Come, I will take you back to Ereinion’s rooms.”

“Ereinion? Is he involved in this?” Turgon’s rage swelled.

Lómion stared at the hand Ecthelion offered him. Was it safe to take it? Or was it another trap? His eyes sought out Ecthelion’s and he found them true. His hand trembled, as he raised it, and before he could change his mind, Ecthelion’s fingers reached for his, curling around his hand. Ecthelion pulled him to his feet, slowly and gently, and Lómion allowed it, swaying on his feet. He hadn’t thought it possible for a soul to feel the aches of a body, but he did. He hurt everywhere and new bruises were forming.

“You are making a grave mistake,” said Turgon. “And it is my duty to show you the error of your ways, Ecthelion. You are still my Captain, and you will obey me! Let go of him! Let us deal with him!”

Ecthelion folded an arm around the swaying Lómion and once he had a tight hold on the injured soul, he raised his eyes and met Turgon’s head-on. “Nay. It is time for you to admit you made mistakes as well, sire. You had ample of warning. Tuor warned you, your own daughter did and later on even Erestor. You chose to ignore their warnings and when Morgoth attacked you lost everything. You are also to blame for Gondolin’s demise. Lómion owned up Maeglin’s part in the tragedy! You never did.”

Turgon’s eyes filled with potent rage. “Lómion? His name is Maeglin!”

“You should look at the mistakes you made and not judge Lómion, Turgon,” said Ecthelion in a clipped voice. “And now let us go.” 

Turgon shook his head. “Maeglin is mine.”

“Lómion belongs to himself,” said Námo in a disapproving voice, revealing himself to the souls.

“My Lord!” Turgon wavered, finding the Vala suddenly among them. “Surely you agree that Maeglin should be punished for his betrayal.”

Lómion leaned heavily on Ecthelion, wishing Ereinion was at his side, for he felt lost and lonely, even in spite of Ecthelion’s unexpected support.

“Ecthelion, take Lómion to Ereinion’s rooms and stay there until I join you,” ordered Námo. He sent a harsh glare in Turgon’s direction, which he could tell made the former King uncomfortable.

Lómion felt entranced, seeing the crowd of souls step aside so Ecthelion and he could leave the hall. The fact that Ecthelion was at his side and had come to his defense still stunned him and he peeked at the Lord of the Fountain. Ecthelion’s eyes reflected the soul’s confusion, making him realize that Ecthelion didn’t exactly know why he had defended him -- or maybe the soul was still trying to accept that he had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“My Lord, with all due respect, but…” Turgon never received the chance to finish his protest. Unexpectedly, foreign memories assailed him and he reeled on his feet, slowly collapsing onto his knees.

“You should not judge before knowing all the facts,” said Námo in a remarkably cold voice. All around him, the souls crumpled under the onslaught of the memories that now flashed in their thoughts.

Turgon lifted his head and managed to look at Námo. “What… is… happening?” He cried, seeing, witnessing and feeling a pain he had never felt before.

“You are witnessing Lómion’s childhood,” explained Námo and for one moment his voice softened. “When he came to you, Turgon, you saw the torment in his eyes and you chose to look the other way. You never offered Lómion a listening ear, instead you embraced Maeglin. You carry part of the guilt, Turgon. Accept that and deal with it.” He gathered his robes close and turned on his heel, leaving the souls in utter turmoil as they were trying to compose themselves after witnessing the Dark Elf raping Lómion.

Distressed, Turgon covered his face with his hands. “Can it be? Do I carry part of the guilt?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eöl had thrown caution to the wind and had left his rooms. The Dark Elf knew that Námo had forbidden him to leave his chambers for a reason and he was determined to find out what had changed in the Halls of Waiting. Why did the Vala find it necessary to confine him to his rooms?

He sneaked through the corridors, adept at moving stealthily and unseen. Eöl pressed against the shadowed wall, as footfalls were quickly approaching. Sobbing and distressed moans drifted toward him and his eyes narrowed, realizing whose sobs he was hearing. Maeglin! Maeglin was here! A diabolical grin formed on his face. He had searched for his son for a long time, but had never found him. They still had a score to settle! Maeglin should have died that day and not Aredhel!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We are only a moment away from Ereinion’s rooms,” said Ecthelion in a soothing voice. “You will be safe there.”

Lómion wished the hood was back in place to cover his hideous face, but it was down, allowing Ecthelion a good look at his distorted and burned features. “I should never have left,” he whispered, in-between sobs. He was trying hard to stop crying, but seeing the hatred in their eyes had hurt – had hurt more than their blows and kicks. “I have been deluding myself,” he added, as the sobs lessened. “I can never be Lómion again. I am Maeglin.”

“Nay, you are not.” Ecthelion stopped walking, forcing Lómion to come to a halt as well. “I realized that you are not Maeglin today. I am sorry that it took me so long, but…” Ecthelion offered the other soul an apologetic smile. “But I understand now. You are Lómion and not Maeglin.”

“Why did you come to my defense?”

“Because you needed a champion and Ereinion was not near.” Looking into the child-like, open and trusting eyes, Ecthelion grew convinced that he had made the right decision in defending Lómion. “You are not Maeglin. You did not deserve their hatred, and even less that beating.” At several places the skin was letting loose, and bruises covered most of the burnt skin.

“You hit me as well,” said Lómion, flinching at the memory.

Ecthelion nodded. “Aye, I did and I feel ashamed that I did. I offer you my apologies and they are sincere, Lómion.” In a way, Turgon’s hatred had opened his eyes. When he had come upon that horrid scene he had been confronted with his own hatred and he had realized the mistake he had made. “I would like to get to know you and to become your friend.” He wasn’t prepared to see fresh tears fall from Lómion’s eyes.

“Are you certain you want to befriend me? Aren’t you making a mistake in doing so?”

“Nay, I am not.” Experimentally, Ecthelion squeezed Lómion’s hand, careful not to squeeze too hard as the other soul was already in enough pain as it was. “I offer you my friendship and I am not in the habit of offering it lightly.”

“I accept,” replied Lómion, though he still felt hesitant to believe that Ecthelion had really changed his mind. “I accept your apology and your friendship… but I should offer my apologies in turn…”  

“Don’t. No apologies are necessary, Lómion, for you did nothing wrong.”

Unable to look into Ecthelion’s kind and forgiving eyes any longer, Lómion lowered his. “I am not worthy of such…” His eyes widened, sensing the presence of another soul – one he feared above all others. “Nay, it cannot be him!”

Ecthelion, alarmed by the look of dread in Lómion’s eyes, quickly scanned the corridor and found the source of his charge’s panic. “Eöl.” He had been one of the Captains to escort the Dark Elf when he had been brought before Turgon and he recognized the other soul instantly. Lómion trembled over his entire body and Ecthelion reacted by pulling his charge behind him. Protectively, he stood in front of Lómion, blocking Eöl’s path. At first, he didn’t know what to say or what to do, but then his anger rose. “How dare you approach us?” This was the one who had hurt Aredhel and Lómion! His sense of justice demanded revenge; demanded Eöl be punished for what he had done to the two Elves in life.

“He is mine,” said Eöl in a controlled voice. “Step aside, and hand him over. He belongs to me, mind, body and soul.” He grinned, knowing the words would increase his son’s panic. “And what a lovely body it was.”

“Monster!” Ecthelion couldn’t keep back any longer. He wanted to lash out and beat Eöl, make him pay for his dark deeds, but Lómion pressed close to him, and the tremors that radiated from his charge, reminded Ecthelion that his first duty was to Lómion. “You will never again lay your dirty hands on him!”

Lómion watched, entranced. He had never thought he would meet the Dark Elf again and now that Eöl stood opposite him, he felt utter terror. It was only due to Ecthelion’s presence that he managed to stay in place. “Make him go away, please.”

The child-like, pleading tone touched Ecthelion, who finally comprehended how deep Lómion’s terror and emotional scars went. “I will protect you. He will never touch you again.” He prepared for an ugly fight, but then, a form appeared in-between Eöl and him.

Námo was in a foul mood. Turgon’s reaction to finding Lómion had enraged him and he was still trying to control that rage when he happened upon Eöl, threatening Ecthelion and Lómion. “I confined you to your rooms!”

Ecthelion shivered; never before had he heard such raw power and anger in Námo’s voice and he was reminded that Námo *was* a Vala. Although the Doomsman seldom displayed his power and might, he had the feeling he was going to witness a demonstration of said power in a second.

“He is my flesh and blood. He belongs to me. The last drop of his blood belongs to me. Not even you will keep my away from what belongs to me, Námo.” Eöl, brazen in his arrogance, thought he could take on Námo himself!

“You fool!” Námo glared at Eöl. “It is about time you learned a lesson!”

Neither Ecthelion, nor Lómion had any idea of what to expect, but when Námo and Eöl vanished, they were still surprised. “Where did they go?” asked Ecthelion, puzzled.

“I do not want to know,” whispered Lómion. “I knew he dwelt here, but…” The encounter with his father had left him shaken to the bone.

“I will take you to Ereinion,” said Ecthelion, growing calm again. Like his charge, he hadn’t expected to ever meet with Eöl again and the encounter had left him upset as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“There you are! I was about to leave and look for you!” Ereinion launched himself in Lómion’s direction and buried the other soul in a hug. “Why did you leave?” He had been worried and angry with himself, finding Lómion had left again.

“I wanted to talk to my mother,” replied Lómion in a soft voice. Now that he was back in Ereinion’s arms, he finally calmed down. “It was terrible.”

Ereinion sensed Lómion’s anxiety and looked toward Ecthelion for an explanation. What had happened for the Lord of the Fountain to set aside his hatred and escort Lómion to his chambers?

Ecthelion summarized what had happened and saw Ereinion’s eyes darken to black at hearing what treatment Lómion had suffered at Turgon’s hands. The eyes became whirling pools of midnight darkness when he told Ereinion about Lómion’s encounter with the Dark Elf.

“Námo had better make certain Eöl never comes close to you again, or I will make sure myself!” Ereinion guided Lómion to the bed, where they sat down. Lómion still trembled and Ereinion did his best to further calm the other soul down.

“Oh, I dealt with him!” Námo strode into the room, his pace energetic and driven. “Eöl will never again go against my orders.”

“What did you do with him?” Ecthelion shivered, seeing the calculated look in Námo’s eyes.

“You do not want to know,” was all the Vala said regarding Eöl. “Now that Eöl has been dealt with, we need to determine our next step.”

Lómion raised timid eyes. “What next step, my Lord?”

Námo’s eyes lost their coldness, looking upon Lómion’s bruised face. “Turgon and his following have much thinking to do… Ecthelion has made his choice… Aredhel and Lómion have been reunited… Ereinion, your work here is done.”

Ereinion’s eyes flared. “Done? Done? I have only begun!”

Námo managed a smile. “Calm yourself.” He walked toward the bed and came to a stop in front of the two souls. Locking eyes with Lómion, he said, “You need to begin healing, truly healing, and you cannot do that here.”

“Please, my Lord, I beg of you. Whatever you have in mind for me, I will obey, but please, please! Please do not separate me from Ereinion! He is my first true…” Lómion swallowed the next word he had wanted to say. He couldn’t say it!

“Friend? Love?” Námo’s expression softened with love and understanding and he ignored Ecthelion’s gasp of surprise at hearing that second word. “Lómion, I have no intention of separating the two of you. But you cannot heal here. You need something the Halls and I cannot give you. Therefore I will entrust you to the care of someone else.”

Ereinion held Lómion close, uncertain what to make of this development. If only Námo would stop talking in riddles! “Entrust him to whom?”

“To us, dearest Ereinion.”

Ecthelion, Ereinion and Lómion stared in surprise at the two forms that now manifested beside Námo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I regret taking my leave so soon, but I cannot stay away from home too long,” said Celeborn, hugging his daughter and then his grandsons. He had already stayed too long. Six weeks had already past by and the Golden Wood called him home.

“You will always be welcome here,” said Elrond, bestowing a hug on his father-in-law.

“I know that, my son.” Celeborn mounted his horse, raised his hand in goodbye and left Imladris.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night, Celebrían lay snuggled close to her husband. Elladan was playing with tiny, colored rocks, which had been a parting gift from Celeborn and Elrohir was staring at the drawings inside one of his father’s books. They sat at the foot end of their parents’ bed, enjoying the comfortable silence. They had become a tight family and Celebrían sensed the difference between the family life she had shared with her parents and the one she had now. There was no emotional distance between Elrond and her, or between Elrond and the children. Her sons would grow up loved by both parents.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“My Lord Erestor? One of the servants directed me here and I hope I am not disturbing you. I am Legolas.” He felt nervous and insecure, standing in front of Erestor, Elrond’s Chief Advisor and confidant. Unable to stand still, he shuffled his feet and lowered his eyes.

Erestor looked up from the report he was reading. “Ah, Legolas! I have been expecting you…” His voice briefly failed him, looking upon Legolas for the first time. He had never met Thranduil and didn’t know if the son resembled the father much, but Legolas’ features were elegant, the lowered large blue eyes kind and the lips curled in a nervous, but still warm smile. Long, fair hair descended down the back, and the hunter’s garb Legolas wore did little to hide the Elf’s lithe yet well-proportioned form. Erestor had lived long enough as one of the Firstborn to recognize danger and beauty and he recognized those traits in Legolas. Thranduil’s son was handsome, but there was much of a hunter – a warrior inside him. The long, nimble fingers held a bow and long hunter’s knives were strapped to the back. /Lethal, dangerous and beautiful!/ Erestor would never make the mistake of underestimating this one!

Legolas wondered about Erestor’s expression, but didn’t question the Elf-Lord about his reaction. After all, Erestor was Lord Elrond’s Chief Advisor, and he was only Thranduil’s illegitimate son.

“I bid you welcome to Imladris, Legolas.” Erestor rose gracefully from behind his desk and gave Legolas a warm smile. “I trust you would like to sleep, eat and freshen up?”

“Preferably in that order, aye, my Lord.” Legolas’ tension lessened. He had been rather nervous to meet with Erestor. He was always nervous when meeting strangers. Part of that nervousness hailed from the fact that his father had sheltered him from all curious eyes. Legolas had had little contact with strangers and that showed.

“Melpomaen!” called out Erestor. His personal assistant and confidant appeared in the doorway, and Erestor gestured for him to approach.

Melpomaen had seen the stranger arrive earlier that day and wondered who the golden-haired Elf was. At first, he had thought it was one of the Galadhrim, but he had quickly realized that the stranger didn’t hail from the Golden Wood. Melpomaen smiled, nervously, realizing the blond Elf was even more beautiful from this close as he had been from afar when he had watched the mysterious Elf lead his horse into the stables.

“Melpomaen, this is Legolas and he is our guest. I entrust him to you. You will assign him guest quarters and show him around Imladris. Answer any questions he might have.” Erestor watched Melpomaen with growing amusement. Although he was several millennia old, Melpomaen still possessed an enchanting innocence.

“Of course, my Lord.” Melpomaen bowed, respectfully, realizing Erestor’s orders meant spending more time with Legolas than he had hoped for. “Please follow me,” he said, addressing Legolas.

Amused, Erestor realized Legolas was waiting for permission to leave. “You may go. We will talk later.”

Legolas nodded once and then followed Melpomaen out of the room, wondering what these Imladris’ Elves were like. He was curious to find out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lómion averted his eyes, as he felt too tainted to look upon such beauty. Although Námo and Vairë were extra-ordinary in their own right, he had never seen such divine beauty before. The pair that had manifested in the room mirrored perfection.

“Who are you?” Ereinion wished he knew Námo’s intentions.

“My name is Lórien,” said the Lord of Visions and Dreams. “And this is my wife, Estë.” His long, golden hair danced against the small of his back, as he released his wife’s hand and advanced on the trembling soul. “Lómion? Will you dwell in my gardens with me? It is beautiful there.”

But Lómion didn’t dare to answer and pressed close against Ereinion in search of protection.

Estë, clad in gray, joined her husband. She placed a finger beneath Lómion’s chin and by lifting it, she forced him to look at them. “All wounds heal in Aman, even yours. Come, and dwell in Murmuran with us.”

“It is a place of healing,” said Námo, realizing Lómion felt too intimidated to accept. “And that is exactly why you need to go there.”

“But…” Lómion felt at a loss and looked toward Ereinion for a decision.

Ereinion considered everything and even probed the Valar’s eyes.

“We mean well,” said Lórien. “My gardens and halls will be your home and shelter you. There is a cottage you can move in to and no one will disturb you.” His kind, sapphire eyes sought out Lómion’s, and he lowered himself onto his heels so he was level with the soul. “You will have everything you were cheated out in life. And, Ereinion will be there with you.”

“You need to heal,” added Estë. “I see the wounds the Dark Elf inflicted on your soul. Do you not want to heal? To be complete? To finally become the one you are supposed to be?”

“’Tis so tempting,” whispered Lómion. “But do I deserve such kindness?”

“You do,” said Estë in a firm tone and she extended her right hand. “All you have to do is take it and a new life will begin.”

Lómion’s gaze shifted to Ecthelion. “And he must stay behind?” He didn’t want that – Ecthelion had offered him his friendship!

“Ecthelion’s destiny lies elsewhere,” said Námo in a kind voice. “He must be here when his beloved arrives.”

Ecthelion closed his eyes. Those words were bittersweet to him – but he did not want his intended to die! Elrohir should be alive and live his life to the fullest! Instead, someone was waiting for him to die!

“Take heart, child,” said Námo, who rested a hand on Ecthelion’s shoulder. “Death is only a new beginning and never the end.”

For some strange reason those words strengthened and encouraged Ecthelion, who even managed a small smile. “Take her hand, Lómion. Do not fret about me.” He had never thought that Lómion would be worried about leaving him behind!

“But… my mother! We have just been reunited and…” Lómion grew quiet, seeing Aredhel standing behind Námo. How long had she already been here? 

“You have to do this, Lómion. For the both of us,” said Aredhel, who would never stand in her son’s way of recovery. “Take her hand and accept what they are offering you. It is a powerful gift.”

Finally growing aware of the fact that two of the Valar were sitting on their heels in front of him, Lómion trembled, nervously. “It is said that the Gardens of Lórien are beautiful.”

“It is a place of healing and I will visit with you. *You* will heal,” promised Estë, sensing Lómion’s true potential for good.

“Allow for the healing to happen,” whispered Ereinion into Lómion’s ear. “I will be there with you – every step of the way, meleth.”

It was hearing that last word – an endearment that had never been said to him before – that made him reach a decision. With one hand, he had a tight hold on Ereinion – he wasn’t going to take the risk of having him vanish on him – and with the other, trembling one, he reached for Estë’s. “I want to heal,” he said, softly. “But I am afraid.”

“There is no reason to be afraid,” soothed Estë, already healing those old hurts that lingered in Lómion’s soul. 

Next, his surroundings dimmed and Lómion clung to Ereinion, who was his only beacon in his changing situation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Open your eyes,” said Ereinion.

Lómion hadn’t even realized he had closed them, and although he wanted to obey, his other senses, which were more alert now, noticed the differences first. The sweet fragrances of flowers in bloom surrounded him and birds sang their songs. Warm rays danced upon his skin and there were other differences as well. He felt stronger, his skin was no longer brittle and the hair that danced against his face was heavy and soft.

“Open your eyes, meleth,” repeated Ereinion, who couldn’t take his eyes off of Lómion. He had also registered their new surroundings and their beauty, but the gardens paled in comparison to Lómion. “We are in Lórien’s gardens.”

Still somewhat reluctant, but curious at the same time, Lómion eventually opened his eyes. They sat on the grass, in front of a little cottage. A sea of flowers and trees surrounded them. The sky was blue and warmed by bright rays. Birds sat high up in the trees and insects roamed the air, buzzing around him.

Seeing the disbelief in Lómion’s eyes, Ereinion gave him a little more time to compose himself. But he also knew that the worst shock was yet to come.

It came the moment Lómion raised his right hand to caress Ereinion’s hair. The skin was smooth and subtle and showed no signs of burns. A startled yelp left Lómion’s lips, realizing *he* had changed as well. A stream was nearby and he pushed himself onto his knees so he could see his reflection in the water. The face that stared back at him was free of burns and bruises. The hair that reached below his buttocks moved like liquid silk and his eyes were a lucid brown. “Who is that?”

“That is you, Lómion.” Ereinion’s heart felt heavy, seeing the skepticism in the warm, brown eyes. “For some reason the Valar gave us bodies – the bodies we possessed in life.” He had already realized that his lungs were drawing in air and his heart pumped blood through his veins. “I do not know why they did this, but we are alive again.”

“That is not me,” said Lómion in a shaken voice, pointing at his reflection in the water. “That is not me!”

“This is you, meleth. I have never seen you in life, but this is you. Don’t you recognize yourself?” He had expected Lómion to be upset, but he did wonder why the other Elf didn’t recognize himself.

“I never looked like this in life!”

“Maybe this how Lómion would have looked like, had he grown into an adult?”   

Lómion shivered, violently. “My eyes were malicious and… and… this is not me.”

“Aye,” said Ereinion. “This is not Maeglin… This is Lómion, my love.”

“Your love?”

Lómion’s eyes revealed everything and hid nothing. “Aye, my love,” confirmed Ereinion. Feeling a warm and solid body in his arms, made him lean in closer and Ereinion caught Lómion’s trembling lips in a passionate kiss.

Next

¹   pen-neth (sing.) –- young one (Sindarin, noun, pronoun)

²   Nana –- mom, mommy, mama (Sindarin, noun)

³  melethril –- (fem.) lover (Sindarin, noun)

⁴ fëar (pl.) –- souls (Quenyan, noun)

⁵  meldir (sing.) –-“male” friend (Sindarin, noun) mell + dir

⁶  ion (sing.) –- son (Sindarin, noun)

⁷  Ada  –- dad, daddy, papa (Sindarin, noun)

⁸  Iauradar –- grandfather (Sindarin, noun) literally... old father

⁹  meleth –- love (Sindarin, noun)

From the Council of Elrond Quenyan and Sindarin dictionary