no slipping up if you slip away

by TheGrammarHawk

Summary:

A story following a different outcome of Neocolai's Fear the Soulless, Wraiths and Night (but never fear me):

In which Gil-Galad reacts to Elrond's attempted waterfall jump more physically than he intends to, striking Elrond without a second thought. Having lost so much family to the silmarils Elrond understands now that fate would have the rings steal his friends, as well.

He sees no point in watching Middle Earth's downfall play out.

Notes:

• For Neocolai, Nyris.
• Inspired by Fear the Soulless, Wraiths and Night (but never fear me) by Neocolai

hi it's 2am i didn't sleep at all last night and my sleeping meds have kicked in really hard so um brain. not working. the amount of typos i've had to fix in these sentences alone is Bad.

this essentially takes place following after chapter one of Fear the Soulless, Wraiths and Night (but never fear me) from Neocolai which was inspired by a comment from Nyris and i wanted to join the three way spiderman pointing stand off,

please mind the tags. there should probably be more but i cannot think to what they are right now? um. i swear i am functional. apparently i am titling this and its chapters after waving through a window from dear evan hansen which i have never actually watched or listened to full through but god i know Some songs and considering what This one is about,

all characters aside from my own mellírin are not my own, be they canon or neocolai's wonderful cluster of chaos!

Chapter 1: i got nothing to share

Elrond was confined to his rooms, Vändel his guard, and Loreláthon and Nuréin both sent off to Mithlond.

Not that Camnir was aware. As far as Camnir was concerned, the High-King had made an appearance with the newly fabled three rings, Commander Galadriel at his side as he restored life to their gilded tree.

Elrond’s absence at the ceremony was… unsettling, to say the least - to say none of the strange air that had overcome Lindon. Sure, their lives were restored successfully, no longer had they need to sail to Valinor so soon, but…

The wind picked up the following day, and dark clouds manifested on the horizon. Worse, there was a change so subtle that Camnir hadn’t realized it until a hand rested on his arm while he was lost in thought.

He gave a belated startle when he turned to see bright eyes swimming with concern, a usually exuberant demeanor simmered into hesitance.

“The birds are all… quiet,” Mellírin murmured, not mentioning the piece of down Camnir plucked from her hair. “Not only the messengers and ones we rehabilitate in the aviary, but… all the ones in the forest, too.”

An ordinary person might simply point out that wildlife tended to go silent in the wake of an oncoming storm, but Camnir knew better than to dismiss any concern from Lindon’s avian specialist - especially when her next words drummed his previous anxiety back up to the surface.

“Where is Herald Elrond? I thought he’d be near you.”

A sinking feeling settled in Camnir’s gut. He turned and started making his way toward Elrond’s quarters quickly, only going slow enough to not draw attention by running. He could hear Mellírin fall into step behind him, something he was quietly thankful for - others got out of the way far more swiftly if they recognized a healer in tow.

He had feared the worst for a moment, realizing the ominous signs in the air. Brewing storm, silent birds, and a suspiciously missing Elrond all came together to form a frightening picture. It had stormed violently when Elros had sailed; Camnir remembered that more than well enough. As for feathered friends, well… the only time they had been so silent was shortly after Elrond was told of his brother’s passing.

Camnir wasn’t sure what he’d see, but somehow Vändel was worse than he had imagined. He immediately found himself frozen under the border guard’s piercing gaze, hushed whispers of his history fluttering through his mind. Elrond so rarely cowed in the company of others, but this one?

Before Camnir could recover, he watched in growing horror as Mellírin moved to stand before him, lip curling in an uncharacteristic display of aggression.

For his part, Vändel’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. He inclined his head only slightly, as though already bored of their appearance. “If you are looking for Lannah, her shift will come when the moon rises.”

“Why are you here? Where is my cousin? You do not ever guard Herald Elrond’s space.”

“I am here because the High-King ordered it of me. Your kin is in Mithlond after his rabid co-conspirator barked back like the dog he is. The detained is permitted visitors. Do you have more inane questions, or will you carry on your way?”

Before she could say something inflammatory enough to regret, Camnir grabbed Mellírin by the hand and hurried inside.

No candles were lit within, curtains even drawn over the window. A wooden tray sat on his desk, clean of any food that had been there.

Too clean, in Camnir’s opinion. Elrond ate neatly, but to leave no trace at all?

For such inclement weather, both of them expected to find Elrond pacing or spitting curses behind Vändel’s back. Instead the herald was curled up on his bed, facing toward the wall and pale as a sheet, eyes closed, but furrowed brow a clear sign of consciousness.

Camnir reached out through ósanwe to his dearest friend but found himself outside of a sheer wall. There was no door to even attempt to knock upon or unlock, a veritable fortress keeping outsiders out, even when he lingered for a moment.

Elrond had never refused him before.

The shield did not lower.

“Mellon nín, please, what… what has happened? Did you arrive yesterday, with the rings? Vändel said - detained? The High-King’s guards are…”

Hopelessly lost as he recounted all the new information bombarding his mind, Camnir started as a burst of wind howled against the window, fat drops of rain beginning to pour down from the sky.

“Leave me be.”

Something was very, very wrong.

Mellírin moved to his bedside, reaching out to gently move his shoulder so that he would lie flat. Elrond hissed in return, but his eyes were the gray of stone instead of the silver of stars, his curls without volume and his skin clammy. His cheek was mottled in dark, ugly bruising, the color distinctly in the shape of a hand-print before dark spots trailed slightly down the line of his jaw.

Internal bleeding. He had taken a blow and to the face, no less, and the delicate blood vessels had ruptured. Mellírin was quick to trace her fingers feather-light down the discoloration, getting the distinct feeling that Elrond would have attempted to bite her hand if the effort would not have been so painful.

“There’s - he dumped the meals he’s been given out of the window.”

“His jaw is broken - likely just a small fracture, but I can imagine eating would be difficult.” Was his eating being observed? Usually Elrond would have no problem simply dismissing food, forgetting it existed if he was of no mind to consume it. A small warmth blossomed as she felt Camnir brush up against her mind, clearly unsure of saying things aloud with Elrond right there.

“I cannot be… I am not certain, but Vändel might have… forced him to eat, if he refused? But not cared enough if it looked like he had eaten?”

Willful neglect with just enough feigned ignorance masking a true lack of empathy and care. Mellírin expected no less from Lannah’s overseer.

“Melethel, send for Yenneth - I will do what I can for the matter of broken bone, but I pray she is not so foolish to have gotten her sentenced away as well. Poultices for bruising and bleeding, and soothing herbal tea. And-”

A pause. Elrond stiffened beneath her touch, and his hard gaze turned away from her. The reality of the situation sunk in all at once.

Elrond was being detained, and had been assaulted by someone. The most likely perpetrator was now his guard.

With the force of Dwarves kicking down a sturdy old gate Mellírin burst against Vändel’s mind, a million questions and accusations threatening to spill out of her. A part of her was surprised enough that his mind was open, but even more so when she felt him perceive her and simply hold out a memory with no hesitation.

Lingering near the tree, arguing over rings. Standing at attention to report to the High-King.

Murmurs of Sauron. Of his taint. Galadriel’s weakness, and Elrond’s unbreaking stance.

He moved to leap from the falls, bag of rings in hand. A sick, smug-sort of feeling washed over Mellírin as Vändel drew her mind in closer, focusing and sharpening the image. One foot over the edge-

Gil-Galad grabbing tightly to his wrist. Gil-Galad’s other hand raising of its own accord - surely, surely he did not premeditate this? - and coming down with the speed and strength of a true soldier of Noldor to strike his fleeing herald.

Whatever happened next faded into the background as the sensation of a growing smile scorched her whole being, awe and a dark sort of satisfaction dripping with malice like a poison to one’s very soul.

Mellírin ripped herself away, immediately loathing the huff of laughter that could barely be heard from outside. Of course Vändel was willing to share. It exonerated him of any blame, and it put on blast Elrond’s defiance against their king.

“Eru,” she breathed, Camnir’s expression only growing more anxious as he watched her. “Go to Commander Galadriel after Yenneth. Tell her of how things are as we have seen.”

“I will go as swiftly as I can.”

Mellírin had full faith in him as he rushed from the room, busying herself with snooping through Elrond’s drawers until she found a satisfactory cloth to wet. With the care and delicacy of one used to treating baby birds that had fallen from nests she swept it over and along his cheek, pretending full well that tears were not gathering in her eyes.

“I am going to see how much I can heal through Song. Yenneth will be able to patch the rest better than I.”

“Don’t waste your time.”

The thought was hurled into her mind like an arrow shot from a small window in a fortress, already barricaded up before she could possibly send her own missive back in.

“I am a healer. You are a healer. You know I cannot idly let harm pass me by without doing my best to remedy it.”

Dull eyes narrowed, neck pulling his head back slightly, as though he could escape her from where he remained in bed. “You did not tell Camnir. You spoke nothing of Fading.”

“I understand he is oft the first informed when you stray, but… this is different. It has only been a day, Elrond. A single day has passed and I can see that the only thing you have done besides lie solemnly in your bed is to throw your food out the window. I understand the pain eating and drinking might have brought, but I - I will fix this. Soon physical ailments will be distant, and I am sure Camnir would love to partake in an evening meal with you here, and your - your spirit will return, bright as ever. You will not Fade.”

It had been meant as a reassurance, even if she had omitted her thoughts on the pains beside physical that might linger. Hopelessness and hurt only caused the fëa more strife, but setting routine would quickly restore some faith.

Instead Elrond dared to smile at her, quirk of his lips unable to disguise the flinch that came with moving his mouth as he forced the threat into the air:

“You cannot stop me.”

For a moment, she was centuries younger, head lingering on her cousin’s shoulder as they packed away a room with no more use.

“I do not think you will Fade, Nuréin. I won’t let you. Please, if nothing else, rely on me.”

She still remembered the way he had palmed tears from his eyes, voice horribly soft and quiet.

“I fear more than anything that you will not stop the inevitable.”

A deep breath. Despite the challenging grin Elrond had bestowed upon her, she could only sense waves of aching and torment behind his eyes.

“I fear you underestimate the experience I have in fighting this matter.”

“Yet you overestimate the willingness I have for your aid in the matter.”

Please, Camnir, hurry.

Thunder rolled through Lindon.

Mellírin Sang.

Notes:

title for this doc is "smacc" bc i am unserious,

this chapter is mostly some intro from camnir and mell's outsider perspectives... the next one should be addressing the Fading problem + certain parties receiving Choice Words from a Very Angry Guy. the third should be a secondary attempt at making an escape for it featuring a Different guy who is Also Angry. why am i writing this here? because i am holding onto consciousness by the skin of my teeth and i refuse to forget what my plan is, so think of it as ominous foreshadowing,

Chapter 2: i try to speak, but nobody can hear

Notes:

ups the chapter count slightly. okay i'm awake this time and alive this time on god,

also my hand slipped there's a bit of autistic elrond slipping in via processing (referencing his need to be Told Explicitly and not let alone to interpret subtlety) bc points. lookit him i know my kind.

those of you who read "to fly, to fall" already know what kind of nonsense i'm about

Song and herbs could mend hröa, but the fëa was not so easily reached.

Especially when it was unwilling.

What use was there in holding onto hope? Why bother listening or paying any heed to the raucous around him when he did not plan on staying for much longer?

Let Mellírin take missives from Galadriel and tie them to the tiny legs of helpful sparrows and nightingales instead of swifter ravens and hawks. Let Camnir kneel at his bedside and hold his hand and weep when he could never break in through Elrond’s locked doors. Let Yenneth dab his skin with ointment and force food and drink down his throat. Let furious rain pound on the walls and roof and windows, hail threatening to break in and lightning flashing behind his eyes with warning.

There was no hope left in Middle-Earth for him and his line. None who would once treasure his counsel now set aside even a moment for his opinion.

How could they? How could they? Yet now despite being tossed aside like a crumpled note before, Galadriel dared to yell at him for selfishness? For causing pain?

Did she not see that clearly causing pain was all he was good for? He attracted it to himself and then dispensed it out in turn. The poor victims of a mother’s flight, yet threats to the king’s throne. Kidnapped by savage Fëanorians, but clearly as barbaric as they were upon release.  Clever and witty and remarkable in talents, but only just peredhel, in the end.

Elwing and Eärendil had both delivered themselves unto the Valar and forsaken their children.

Maedhros and Maglor had sent them off as well, handing them over to Lindon and Gil-Galad as though they had never meant a thing to the brothers.

Celebrimbor was surely in Sauron’s clutches by now, his works tainted and dangerous as a result.

Galadriel had not trusted him and had let herself be deceived by the Deceiver, and would not listen to his concerns.

Ereinion had demanded the rings without giving him a chance to explain his fears. He had thrown away all caution and had trusted the chance of Sauron over him. Had thrown peredhel at him like a slur instead of any name or title, had dismissed every attempt at help, had struck him down with his own hand-

Ereinion had hit him. The only other time Elrond could even recall receiving a smack to the face it had been Elros’ doing, and they had been small and squabbling and it had only stung for a moment before Elros wavered and cried an apology.

And Elros was gone. Elros had left him in his Choice and had left him in distance, as well, sailing to make his own name untainted by their familial line. All that remained was his line of descendants, menfolk that did not even deign to remember their uncle these days, did not care to know what they meant to him.

Every person he had ever had faith in to support him as he grew had stabbed him in the back, and now Ereinion had, too. All because of those wretched silmarils and rings, stealing his parents’ attention, his foster-fathers’ futures, Celebrimbor’s fascination, and now Gil-Galad’s rationality.

And Elros was dead. The only person Elrond knew he could always have trusted was dead, had betrayed him all the same in his mortality, and now he was left with nothing.

If Gil-Galad could so easily be charmed by the rings, if Galadriel could so easily be deceived by Sauron, then all of Middle-Earth was doomed to follow. Undoubtedly Círdan would dub the High-King’s decision as wise and follow him into the dark. Lorel and Nuréin would fall into line or be slaughtered for disobedience, in the case of the former. Camnir would not be able to escape the Shadow.

He was alone, he was nothing, and he could not stop the Evil coming for them.

Elrond wept, tears lining his lashes and dripping down his pale face, completely oblivious to the hands that wiped them and the pleading whispers of reassurance as he tucked himself deeper and further away.

 

- - -

 

“Are you sure we are to turn Halbrand away from Eregion, milord? He seems so wounded by being rebuked.”

Celebrimbor barely heard Mirdania’s soft question, too busy reading the small print borne by a little scroll, its nightingale messenger calling incessantly where it hopped on the ledge of the window.

It was the third bird in the past hour. At first he had thought it odd - nature had been quieter lately, so at least it was pleasant to hear birds chirping again. It was not the typical messenger he would receive from Lindon, and the penmanship was also queer.

The first message had been simple: Come to Lindon posthaste.

The second had been alarming, spurring him into tidying his workspace and looking for his travelling necessities: Elrond is Fading.

The last, in his hands, had frozen his veins solid: Halbrand is the Deceiver.

“Lord Celebrimbor?” Mirdania tried again, drawing closer. “Word from the High-King?”

“Ui, I do not… recognize this writing.” Suspicious enough already of the strange choice for carrying the letters, Celebrimbor frowned and tilted the script so that Mirdania could see. “This is the third so far today. It is not Elrond’s hand, and the messages are damning. I fear it may be a ploy to unsettle us.” But if not… If they were true, he was losing time.

“Ai!” Mirdania’s eyes widened as she read the dark news, thoughts of the mysterious man’s pleading banished from her mind without a second thought. “That’s Mellírin’s writing! She often sends word with sweeter birds, claims that they’re less apt to be shot down by travelers or miscreants for their lack of meat. She is a friend, both of myself and Herald Elrond.”

Celebrimbor watched as Mirdania’s hand lifted to the vibrant feather trinket in her hair, a faint image of an elleth with golden locks poking at the back of his memory.

So this was no scheme.

“Inform the guards and smiths that Halbrand is Sauron and that he is to be driven away from the kingdom at once. Find me when you are done - I would have you come with me to Lindon.”

“Yes, of course, milord.”

 

- - -

 

“Ereinion, you must stop deluding yourself!”

Galadriel had burst into the king’s quarters looking like a drowned rat, drenched to the bone from the tempest outside. She had not waited for the guard to shut the door behind her before she launched her attack, to Ereinion’s great displeasure.

“In what way am I deluding myself, Commander? Choose your words wisely. I am not in the mood to be disrespected in my own rooms.”

“Elrond,” she hissed, wringing water from her hair. “It has been days since Healer Mellírin healed him, and only faint bruising lingers after Yenneth’s ministrations. Yet still does he not willingly eat or drink on his own, still is his flesh cold and pale, still does he reject any attempt at reverting his Fading! He does not let anyone into his mind, and when I reach out with Nenya his fëa fights tooth and nail to escape my hold!”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Ereinion scorched back, rounding his table to loom over Galadriel. “What reason does he have for Fading in such a manner? It is craven despondency, bred and brought about by being spoilt all this time. I did not - I did not intend harm upon him, but as you have noted, Galadriel, he has already been healed! That his guard is different is not a punishment, it is normalcy. I could not trust the other two to not baby him, and he clearly must learn that he is not above our laws!”

“He is above cruelty,” Galadriel argued, “I know you are not one to bare your heart from under your gilded crown, for your sake and that of the people you serve, but Elrond does not learn from subtlety. Elrond learns from bold, forward proclamations, surefire actions, things that are unmistakable. If you do not tell him that you did not mean him harm - he will not listen when I say it to be so, Ereinion, he shuts down further and dissociates from our words! Yes, he disobeyed you, but he is so young, and his life has had such little structure. He can be dealt with and learn consequences without being tormented!”

Lightning cracked near to the closest window, the following thunder rattling the very walls. A large piece of hail shattered the delicate glass-work, allowing the cold and howling wind to blow its way in.

A very ungentlemanly swear was lost on Ereinion’s lips as he moved to fix it, Narya sparkling on his hand as the window put itself back together as though it had never broken at all.

Yet still air whipped around them both, rain pelting them like sea-spray as its roaring grew more and more intelligible.

“Where is your shame?!”

That voice.

They knew that voice.

It had been dead for centuries, now.

Galadriel’s heart clenched and Ereinion could barely look toward where the agitated pieces of storm grew more and more Mannish in shape.

Blustering cold pressed Ereinion up against the wall, an icy hand wrapped around his wrist in a mirror of how he had grabbed Elrond away from the falls.

“You promised our safety! You promised his safety! Who more than we know the damage done by precious jewels? Elrond was scared and wanted to give and seek counsel in turn, wanted time to study and understand our cousin’s craft and make certain of its light! You would have risked the safety of the Eldar falling prey to Sauron for but a week more time to assess? This is not why he Chose you!”

“Elros,” Ereinion gasped, the ire and fury of the long-departed king near suffocating in such proximity. Ever had the heavens bent for the will of the peredhel twins, as they had to those that came before them. Where Elrond more often made flowers blossom and the sun shine brightly, Elros had ever commanded the sea, and the hurricanes they created were no exception for falling under his wrath.

“What if he had been right? What if the rings blighted our trees with the Darkness! You would strike him for caution? For rightfully fearing the hold precious craft can have on the Eldar? How often did your people spite us for our Fëanorian upbringing? Our savage, bloodthirsty heritage? Not once did Káno nor Nelyo ever once hit us! How are they the barbarians? Elrond sits and festers and rots in a spiral of knowing nothing but your disgust for him, your hatred, your lack of empathy for the pains he has known!”

“I cared for you both as though you were my own sons,” Ereinion hissed, anger rising in his breast at the accusations. “I cannot allow him to oppose me so openly. I did not mean to do him harm, but I cannot allow the guilt of it to stay my hand as High-King! He is free to return to his station once he stops sulking.”

“You are to be the last to so thoroughly destroy his trust!”

“Urgent-”

Vorohil stilled at the scene he was met with. Galadriel, voice tight, urged him on.

“Please, Vorohil. Report.”

“Herald Elrond is dead.”

For the briefest of moments the wind stilled, the grip holding Ereinion back going fully slack before the outline of Elros dissolved.

“What do you mean,” Ereinion stumbled, putting himself back together. “Explain yourself, soldier.” He must’ve been mistaken. He had to be wrong.

Vorohil dipped his head, voice somber. “His fëa has departed. His hröa yet breathes, but it… it will not last, empty as it is. He has gone beyond our reach.”

The weight of Nenya was suddenly unbearable. Galadriel hurled it toward the High-King, shouting over the sob in her throat, running for the door.

“May your pride choke you!”

There Ereinion remained, stunned, before he slowly moved to retrieve the silver ring from the floor. The melody it sang had grown somber, almost as though it attempted to comfort him.

He did not deserve comfort. He was not the one who had needed it. Eru, had he truly failed so thoroughly?

No. No, he refused that to be the case.

When Ereinion pushed into Elrond’s quarters, his heart nearly stilled. Galadriel stood over Elrond’s limp body, shadows dark under his eyes and hands and face lax in a way they never seemed to be, even in sleep. The commander begged and pleaded and wept stunned tears as she lifted and pressed one said hand to her mouth, kissing the pale knuckles before she clutched them closer to her chest. Yenneth was silently straightening the supplies strewn across the room, packing them away with little fanfare. Noises of distress were muffled in Elrond’s washroom, soft words indistinguishable from the inconsolable weeping, even as Vorohil moved to join those within so that he might help soothe.

Elrond’s presence was entirely absent in the air around them. The vase of flowers on his dresser were wilted over, petals falling as though with remorse. The low, sorrowful cries of a mourning dove echoed in from the windowsill, the bird completely unbothered by the pouring rain.

The tree was golden and bright, the Elves had no fear of needing to flee Middle-Earth. Yet the threat of Sauron still loomed, even so.

He had paid to put off the inevitable with Elrond’s spirit.

Notes:

everyone is having a Horrible time and No One is happy yet somehow what's yet to come is worse? question mark? between grad school and desperately accruing hours as a therapist for the program and also not sleeping i am Fried y'all i feel like i cannot speak and make sense yet you listen to me yap anyways, god speed,

Chapter 3: on the outside, always looking in

Notes:

uhhh i am sorry in advance for this one folks elrond crashing out now

because i am a heathen who can never stick to chapter count idk if this will go from four to five or not? if it becomes five then five will be all the comfort and resolution of hurt comfort but it depends on the monster that the next chapter will be,

there's a brief mention of elrond swearing an oath to elros that he would never lie about what he saw in foresight, something that is from a different fic i wrote because i think that it's Neat

tw: this chapter contains stronger reference and implications of suicidal ideation/intent. depression alters your mind and thoughts and it becomes so much harder to find positives and possibilities compared to the bad things that surround you. one of the main indicators of suicidality is hopelessness. there's also a bit of emotional manipulation (from elrond, especially). as a general disclaimer/rule? if someone you care about is threatening to harm themself, it is always most important to achieve their safety, no matter what they say or claim.

 

trust nobody, not even your twin

The rain had softened to a drizzle, but Elrond could not feel it. The wind had quieted, yet it did not tussle his hair. The tree above the falls was radiant once again, but there was still nothing Elrond craved more than letting the fall take him.

He would fall, he would fly as he intended, as his mother once had, and let his fëa soar far, far away.

Except.

Elros stood before him at the precipice of the waterfall, looking both young and old, Mannish and Elven. Unruly hair was both tucked behind his ears and also cut far shorter and adorned with a crown, his dress both that of imprisoned hostages and the regal raiment of a king.

“You would block my path, even when you ever refused to walk it with me?”

Elros inclined his head slightly, eyes dark and mournful but ever unyielding. What Elrond would not give to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, demand answers, beg him to stay-

“You know this is not your fate.”

“Who am I to care about fate any longer! Fate clearly has no cares for me!”

“They mourn you even now,” Elros quieted, his tone too proper, too lordly, grating against Elrond’s memories and kinship. He did not want the king of Númenor, he wanted his brother.

“I am both of those things, Elrond.”

“Yet you seem to refuse to set the former aside to allow the latter room to breathe!”

Maglor and Maedhros were the sons of Fëanor before their foster-fathers, just as the High-King was clearly Gil-Galad before Ereinion.

Elrond would never come to mind first. A childish thought, a childish wish, but a present one nonetheless. He was no one’s top priority. Nor should he be - he had brought nothing but pain and foolishness, even after all these centuries. He had failed everyone, and now Sauron would surely take them, even if the rings were not of his making. How was he supposed to shelter Celebrimbor’s life when everything he touched broke or was cast aside?

“You have always thought too much about nothing, Elrond.”

“Nothing is what you left me with. Am I to carry even more blame?”

“You swore to me to always speak true of your visions, and you know better than any other that your Foresight is never false. It is not your place to die, Elrond.”

Elrond felt his shoulders roll forward, defensiveness crawling up his spine as a sharp barb speared into his chest, painful and obvious, now, when he thought about it.

“You are only here because the Valar will you to be. Not because we are kin. Were.”

“Death does not erase blood,” Elros implored, a small flicker of familiar temper crossing his face. As heartening as that small emotion was, Elrond could only shake his head, smile failing.

“You do not deny your purpose here.”

“I did not think to coddle you with lies.”

Thunder rumbled lowly throughout Lindon. In a crowded room, three rings sought him: he refused them once more.

Elros sighed, weariness and frustration mixing across his expression as he witnessed Elrond rebuke any attempt to revive him yet again. “All hoped that I would be best to get through to you, as the one who knows you most.”

A scoff, Elrond hugging himself tightly as he looked anywhere else. “Know me most? Now? After all this time? What could you know of the things I have seen? The pain and misfortune I have felt and witnessed? The agony of immortality? I am the one that Chose to live long enough to constantly right your mistakes and the errors of everyone else around me, I am the one who must weather hardship and loss forever, I am the one who continues on just for - just for everyone I know and care for to break their promises or fall away. Your kingdom loved you, and I am - am never more than a stain upon the thoughts of the Eldar.”

“You have seen what is to come!” Elros started, jabbing a finger toward his twin. “You know what lies in store for you! A wife! Children! The glimmer of Darkness finally being cast out forever!”

“What of the death?” Elrond cried in return, a hand reaching up to grab tightly onto his own curls, anxiety rising through him. “What of the despair that always lurks? What of watching my beloved sail without us? What of watching those children Choose the same as you? What of the fact that in order to vanquish Darkness first we must choke in it, suffer and die as his influence cloaks the land?”

Elros softened entirely, visage younger and upset as he took his brother’s face in his hands and not pulling back when he sobbed.

“There is still good left in the world, Elrond. It’s worth fighting for.”

“Why must I fight it? Why must I fight it so alone?”

Elros drew Elrond into an embrace, letting his head tuck into his shoulder like he would do so long ago, when they were alive and small and only had each other.

“You are not alone. Just because a cloud covers our father’s star does not mean it is no longer there. What has been done to you of late is inexcusable-” Lightning lit up the sky around them with Elros’ temper, but Elrond was too weary to jump. “But… there are still those who care. I would never have left you to yourself and your thoughts if I truly thought there were none here that would love and support you as much as I.”

“I just… I just wish to rest.” To stop feeling small and worthless. To stop managing doing everything wrong, no matter what befell from his actions. To guide his companions and be heard, respected for his worth and not simply because of his bloodline or obligation to do so. “Please, Elros. Will you not let me rest?”

“I have already stated that you may not end like this.”

Suddenly Elros’ hold was too much, too tight.

“I want you to stay of your own will, Elrond. Do not make me force you.”

“...Force? You cannot mean…”

Upon pulling back, Elros was older once more, eyes wiser than Elrond remembered, but face set in stone. Agony and melancholy whirled through Elrond’s being, recognizing all at once what this situation truly was.

“Your presence does not linger here to comfort me.” Anger and panic warred for dominance as Elrond felt his grip on himself and reality tilt sideways, as though his fëa was being contained neatly and put into order, more real and solid with every passing moment.

Elrond had thought Vändel was to be the worst jailor possible, but it seemed that was not true. Vändel might have stood guard outside of his own home, but that was the extent of it.

Elros was seeking to jail him within his own hröa.

“You know what you have seen will come to pass. You cannot die here and now. It is not your time - so I cannot allow it.”

“You would condemn me to suffer?” Elrond could not bear another betrayal, not from him. “You are allowed to die and I am not?”

“You made your Choice.”

“Elros - Elros, mecin, do not do this, if you truly love me you will not-!”

 

 

 

The withered flowers within Elrond’s vase slowly rose up and bloomed.

Notes:

elrond: elros you're here to take me away, finally, finally i can be dead and with you at last
elros:
elrond: why are you blocking me from leaving
elros:
elrond, in tears: even you stand against me?

um now is a bad time to say that the next chapter is going to be Worse but i SWEAR it'll be okay in the end, this was going to be one big chapter of Ow but i've split it up into a smaller oof and a bigger Oof,

Disclaimer again for irl bc as a therapist I really wanna make it clear:
If someone tells you that if you don’t let them hurt/kill themself that you don’t love them, do Not listen. That is the depression and hopelessness talking. Secure their safety.
However, if someone is threatening to do harm to themself if you do something (example: threatening suicide if you break up with them) that is not acceptable, that is emotional manipulation. Ensure their safety (call 911/equivalent if you are concerned they will follow through) but do not bend to the demand, either. It is never your responsibility to keep someone else alive (unless you’re taking care of a child or other dependent).

Chapter 4: slam on the breaks

Notes:

TW: suicide attempt, self-loathing, negative thoughts and feelings

 

If Fading is passive suicidal ideation (unable to will yourself to want to live), Elrond is firmly moving from that (though one could argue that he was being purposeful by accelerating his Fading and thus plenty active, which I would agree) to active suicidal attempt. While passive generally consists of not caring if you lived, active is very much the wanting to die, and a lot of this chapter focuses on that. Please be mindful of your own headspace and know that it's okay if you aren't in a place to read something like that right now - I love fics delving into hurt/comfort, angst, and mental illness, but even I have days where I know my anxiety will just get triggered and I'll have a bad attack. Fics are not as important as your mental well-being! And I Love You. Always. Even if you don't interact with me at all, I care for you. So I want you to be safe. If you are having a hard time with thoughts like this regardless of this fic or not, you are always welcome to reach out to hotlines like 988 to talk to someone.

The ride to the Grey Havens was quiet. It had at least been mutually agreed upon - for which Elrond was thankful.

Gil-Galad had been the one to suggest Elrond head to Círdan’s for some time away from the prying people of Lindon - though, of course, Elrond was fairly certain it was just to distance himself from him. When Galadriel had insisted she follow, Gil-Galad had forbidden her within an instant, watching his herald flinch at the very suggestion.

Camnir had been so bold as to state his desire to go. Elrond did not noticeably recoil, and so it had been allowed, despite the lack of positive reaction, as well. It was as though he were a living doll, silent and staring toward the ground, shaking his head or nodding when asked a question twice or more times, only half-listening. At Camnir’s allowance, Mellírin fiercely stated she would depart too, both to save Yenneth the effort of travel and, as she so hotly stated, to check up on her cousin and his customary leech.

She knew, then, just what had befallen Elrond, if the pink in her cheeks and anger flashing in her eyes was any sign of it. Gil-Galad was not certain how many others knew, but if it was allowed to spread as gossip further…

There was nothing he could do if it did. He did not want to lead with an iron fist, with scorn and violence. He had never meant to. It would be one thing to punish unbecoming rumors about the High-King, but to simply tell the truth? That he had struck his own herald, someone many of his people deemed as favored by him, a child he had practically reared as his own in his time here? What, then, would he do to those he did not so outwardly praise?

All of Lindon would fear him, and it would be of his own making.

Narya wept upon his finger. It was only right to send Vilya with the three, handed to Elrond in its pouch as a show of good faith and apology - of trust, more than anything. You do not trust the rings, so I shall split them for you. You can seek Círdan’s wisdom and thoughts on the matter, and you can do with it what you will.

If it ended up tossed to the bottom of the sea, then that was only what Gil-Galad deserved.

Perhaps the ride wouldn’t have been so silent if he had not accompanied them. Small bits of birdsong occasionally pierced the air, but every time he looked, Gil-Galad found the little creatures retreating.

Maybe if he wasn’t there, Mellírin would sing back to them, and Elrond’s spirits would be lifted.

Maybe if he wasn’t there, the elleth would lighten the mood by openly flirting with Camnir, his fluster enough to prompt a smile from his dearest friend.

Maybe if he wasn’t there the three of them would be able to have an open conversation about painful emotions and responses to loss and suffering without feeling as though their High-King was breathing down their necks.

But Gil-Galad was there, and the ride was bereft of comfort, humor, and compassion, for it.

 

- - -

 

Círdan had taken one look at the party at his door before sweeping them all inside with a smile, though his eyes challenged the expression of joy.

“If you are looking for your soldiers, Loreláthon and Nuréin are otherwise occupied. You might find the former near the stables and the latter in the woods, if you were so inclined.”

“That is not why I sent them-” The harshness of Gil-Galad’s tone caused for both Elrond and Camnir to flinch, though the cartographer hid his well. Mellírin, on the other hand, bristled as though she had words to say, but thought better of them.

“I shall go inform my cousin and the other of our arrival, Master Círdan,” she chose instead, giving a tight nod before turning to those she held more dear. “I doubt I will need to go far. I am sure you will manage to reach me if you are of such a need.”

“Why don’t you two settle in Elrond’s guest room, for a moment? I shall prepare tea.”

Camnir gave a small nod, herding his friend to the door leading to the quarters he tended to take when in need of a respite from Lindon’s politics.

Once the younger three were gone, Ereinion sat with a hefty sigh at Círdan’s table. The shipwright hummed in return, cocking his head just slightly to wait for him to speak first.

“I fear I have transgressed past the point of no return.”

“The wind whispers of it,” Círdan murmured, selecting tea leaves. “What it does not say, so do the birds - whether by call, or by the notes they have carried.”

Ereinion buried his head in his hands.

“Your soldiers informed me of what occurred. More appropriately, Loreláthon swore that I was to ride to Lindon posthaste and make you see sense. I do not believe Nuréin has spoken more than a handful of words since he arrived, until they received notice from an over-eager finch. He seems to aim to pave new paths in the forest with his pacing, but he is likely the only reason his companion has not immediately disobeyed your will to return.”

“I did not intend to strike my herald, Master Círdan.” To some, the statement could be contrived as defensive, spoken too quickly as though to deflect an oncoming attack. Círdan knew better, however, coming from one of the younglings he had fostered over his many years.

‘Twas a beg, plain and simple. The plaintive ask for reassurance from a child that had awoken from a nightmare, wanting to know that the monster that had chased them was not real.

“Tensions are high. The Shadow has begun to form across the lands again, and the Eldar near faded from Middle-Earth entirely.”

“Those are excuses,” Ereinion refuted, fist faintly hitting against the table. “I cannot afford to be so lax in my behaviors that I am slapping any one of my people! I did not mean to harm, but neither did I wish for Elrond to-”

“You have your answer, ion nin.”

Ereinion paused, uncertain of exactly what Círdan meant as the elder began to steep the tea. Taking pity on the golden king, he continued with a softer voice, wary of any who might be listening.

“You reached out to stop Elrond from leaping. You did not do it to retrieve the rings. Take heart in knowing your cause - it does not excuse your actions, but it provides a basis from which to begin reconciling. Be slow and steady in your approach. Horses shy from the hands that whip them, and birds flock to those that wait for them to make the first move.”

“I… pray you are right, and that the situation can be fixed,” Ereinion stood, shaking his head wearily. “I will give him time. Should anything occur, I pray you will send word.”

“Ereinion.”

The High-King paused, daring to glance back toward Círdan at his call.

“Know that he is welcome here, always, but I cannot keep one that desires to leave.”

An ache settled beneath his heart, understanding Círdan’s meaning. Whatever had happened before, Elrond’s fëa had left. How it had returned - whether this was another fascinating intricacy of peredhel or not - did not matter: Elrond had continued being quiet and sullen upon waking.

Something was not right, and he was not the one able to fix it.

 

- - -

 

Elrond curled up in his bed, counting the minutes as they passed by. Camnir had attempted small talk, but it was awkward and fleeting, and he had fallen into silence as he pulled a book from the ever-stocked shelf to read. It was a wonder he had come at all, little as he likely wanted to be here. Meeting all sorts of new people, speaking on his behalf, earning direct attention from such lofty figures as Gil-Galad and Círdan, both? It wouldn’t take long for him to regret coming.

Mellírin returned as the sun began to set, asking if he was okay with any visitors - frankly, Elrond was surprised to be given a choice at all, since it seemed he was not one that had earned decision making of late.

Her face had fallen slightly when he declined, but she had not pushed. She offered to refill his tea, suggesting that she add some sedatives if he was comfortable, which he considered, but…

“No, Mellírin. I do not think I will have trouble sleeping. I… I am tired.”

It was true, and she could clearly tell. With a light touch to his shoulder she wished for him to rest well, noting that she would be out in the living space of Círdan’s home with her cousin should he have any needs.

Elrond had managed a smile for her, reassuring her that he was in good hands, he knew.

There were no guards here to contain him. Just Camnir.

Camnir was far easier than Vändel to escape. All Elrond needed to do was wait for the light of his father to shine in through the open window, left that way to soothe the warm air by the sea.

Finally the hour turned late enough that any woodworkers had likely returned to their homes and their families, those that went to rest doing so while the others simply settled in for the night.

“Camnir.”

He could practically hear the way his friend’s head shot up where he sat across the room, pulled from his reading immediately. A familiar pressure knocked at the doors of his mind, but…

Camnir did not need to see the dark, ugly thoughts he held within.

“I have changed my mind. Do you think you could get me the tea Mellírin offered?”

“Of course!” Camnir smiled, heartened to have Elrond speak to him again, even if he had not yet touched his mind. “I am sure it will not take long.”

That, Elrond could agree on. As a result it was with haste that he left the bed at Camnir’s departure, making for the open window - not even bothering to relace his boots or slip on sandals, or to grab any other clothing but the shirt and pants he would ordinarily have slept in.

Sand tickled his feet as he crouched low underneath the windowsill, only straightening when he could not hear Camnir returning too soon. Sure enough, there was no one around to mind him but for a stay worker or two far down the coast, likely enjoying the night air.

They wouldn’t be able to stop him.

Neither could Elros.

If he was not allowed to Fade, so be it. If his brother would not let him peacefully depart, then he would make war. Fine, Elros.

His precious sea could take him instead.

Elrond did not flinch when the cool night tide first hit his feet, letting himself continue to walk in, pace firm. How many of his kin had betrayed him by crossing these waves; how many had sunk to Ulmo’s depths?

Anger and resentment prickled throughout Elrond as he noticed the way the water attempted to part, to let him through. So Elros was still meddling, little as it was. But he could not command all the ocean - not in life, and not in death. Ulmo would take him.

If he did not, he would find another path. A blade would make quick work of him. If that was taken, he could simply lash out until the High-King had no choice but to order his death.

Or maybe nothing would stop him, now. He had left Vilya within, so their precious rings were all accounted for.

And if you fail? Whispered a traitorous voice, one that mixed so heavily between Elros’ and his own that he could not decipher whether it was a thought in his own mind or one put there by the sea breeze. Will not the Valar simply reincarnate you to fulfill the future you have Seen?

Then he would do it again.

Over and over? You would scorn their wish for you to thrive, and make them restore you again and again?

It wasn’t a wish for him to thrive. It was a wish for him to follow as they commanded, and he was tired. He was so tired.

His parents had favored the silmarils; his mother had not hesitated before she flew far, far from them, leaving her own children to be ensnared by foreign hostilities. Maglor had taken pity on them, and Maedhros had come around, but they were still temporary, always temporary. Maglor yet lived, Elrond was sure of it, but he had not once come to seek him. Had never considered his feelings on the matter, on whether he and Elros had even wanted to go to Lindon.

Lindon. Where more kindred souls were supposed to welcome them with open arms, yet vitriol and suspicion plagued him even still. It had been thousands of years, and still he had not earned his place. His blood, sweat and tears permeated so much of the kingdom by now, and yet… and yet…

And yet Galadriel had hidden knowledge of Sauron from him.

And yet Ereinion had - Gil-Galad had refused to hear his opinion, had tossed everything aside despite their risk, had leveraged his power over him like he rarely had before.

And yet his fourth father-figure had struck him. Not a word of apology. No show of remorse. He had been hit across the face by the most recent ellon to claim him and foster him, and then he had been thrown to the cruelest of wolves within the ranks of their soldiers without a second thought.

Elwing’s flight had hurt, but they had not been surprised by it. Ever would she place a silmaril above them.

Maglor and Maedhros handing them away stung, but they had at least done it for their safety. Their logic was sound, at the time, and Eru knew what would have happened to them if they had remained.

The sensation of a strong, calloused hand meeting his cheek at the same rate his king could slice off an orc’s head had been sharp and sudden and entirely unexpected. Was he not the one that preached that people could learn without being harmed? The one who had seen how agonizing it was for Elrond to be alone, and promised to never do so again?

He had wanted to trust. Truly, Elrond had wanted to trust that this time, this time his family would last, would actually remain at his side.

Elros had left. Galadriel had deceived. Ereinion had hurt.

This was all that awaited him. Of that, he had no doubt. Promises of love and children and peace - how worthwhile could they be, when every day it seemed he lost more favor, every action he attempted only failed or brought more pain? Was this why Elros had refused the fate of the Eldar? Had he known that there was no way for immortality to beget more joy than grief?

If so, why had he let Elrond Choose this? Why opt for him to weather ceaseless torment? Was he some sort of cosmic joke, the eternal punchline for the result of Melian and Lúthien mixing their blood with the Elves and then Men?

Perhaps Vändel had been right in his hatred toward him all along. It truly had been deserved.

“Ai! Starshine! It’s a bit late for a swim, don’t you think?”

A chill ran down Elrond’s spine as a familiar voice yelled out to him. He was neck deep in the waters, now, almost far enough that he would not accidentally catch himself if he faltered.

He could make out the figure of Lorel sitting up atop Círdan’s roof, his shouting drawing the attention of the people within the house. When all four of its occupants breached the night air, Elrond realized that he was running out of time, especially as Lorel kept calling, beginning to stand himself.

“What are you-!?”

“Elrond! Filit, do not fly from us-!”

“Are you-?”

Elrond pushed off against the seabed, further into the waves even as Nuréin broke into a sprint, Lorel leaping from the roof and Mellírin close behind them both.

The light of Eärendil faltered overhead as Elrond dove under the water, already numb from the cold of it. He let out an exhale as he did, watching small bubbles ride above him as he swam down.

Is this what you wanted to come to pass, Father?

A small, curdled feeling of satisfaction at finally having his way almost brought a smile to Elrond’s face.

Is this the alternative you desired, Elros?

Instead, he felt his lips part.

Is this what my station affords me, Ereinion?

Elrond inhaled.

Notes:

The next chapter will resolve things and also provide the comfort we and elrond so dearly need, I Promise,

in the meantime i have to get up in seven hours to go to work and be a therapist for people instead of elrond so i'm sorry elrond i gotta do the sessions for people that can provide my hours before i get to you,

(if you're curious about some of the missing scenes from elrond reviving to suddenly going to Grey Havens/reactions to elrond suddenly Not Being There when camnir leaves, oh don't worry, we're gonna get to see some cam pov next chapter for Sure)

small cute note to leave you on: "filit" (quenya) or "aew" (sindarin) means "little bird"

Chapter 5: let that lonely feeling wash away

Notes:

you can tell we're on an upswing because the chapter title is now from "you will be found" aka one of the other two deh songs i know

there's obviously some discussion on elrond's suicide attempt to which i just want to say two things:
-please take care of yourself bc i love u so very much. this chapter is Not as rough in that sense as the last couple but like always put yourself first
-this is fiction please please do Not ever do what camnir does elves have a different overall concept of life because their spirit is immortal but just- yea

small other warnings:
-brief vomit mention
-panic attacks and triggered ptsd reactions
but otherwise uhhh i think we're good to go. it's 3:30am and i am not fully cognizant of what i am writing anymore but i wanted to throw another chapter out here so i am once again adding just oneee more chapter to the count

Celebrimbor reared back as a memory was offered freely to him by the High-King, earning alarm from Mirdania as she remained standing respectfully at the door.

“The rings are good, I know,” Ereinion started, hoping to dissuade any possible anger from Celebrimbor to his younger cousin for insulting his craft. “They restored our Light, they would not have if tainted by the Darkness.”

“Blast the rings!” Celebrimbor shouted in return, the fury in his eyes reminiscent of those that came before him as he grabbed ahold of Ereinion’s sleeve. “I had wondered what could have happened to shake Elrond’s spirit - you are the culprit? You were the one he was entrusted to! If he were still but a child I would sweep him away to Eregion this very instant!”

“You must not return to Eregion. Not with Elrond, not when the Deceiver lurks about your fences like a wolf that has caught prey-scent.”

“You would have me surrender my kingdom to him?” Anger turned to deeper outrage, the smith’s cheeks pink and eyes tempestuous. “This is when they need me most - Elrond, as well!”

“The missives I sent for you were to ensure your safety. Sauron seeks you for your craft - thus it is you who we must keep from his clutches.”

“I did not respond to your missives. I came because Mirdania’s friend stated that Elrond was Fading, and now you will not even inform me where my kin resides-!”

The rising venom was countered with a shield as cool as ice. “I have had him sent to Mithlond in hopes that Círdan would provide him with a place to settle his mind. He… He Faded more swiftly now than he had when Elros died, Tyelpe! It was not normal!”

Celebrimbor’s heart stuttered in his chest as faint memories of bright red hair danced across his vision. Maedhros.

He had dreamed, long ago, of the fates of his kin. Images of their deaths haunted his mind, even when he had not been there to witness them. They were more common than ever when in proximity to Elrond - and he feared to think of whether it was his cousin’s queer heritage to blame, or how close he had been to his uncle.

Maedhros had thrown himself into the earth to die with a silmaril, overcome by suffering. How had Elrond reached the same point of desperation?

Not for the first time did Celebrimbor wish he knew of Maglor’s fate. Surely he would have known what to say or how to help, but… the sons of Fëanor were long gone. If Maglor lived, he was out of reach.

He was Elrond’s only kin left, and he would not abandon him.

“If Elrond is in Mithlond, there is where I shall go. Mirdania - you are free to come with, or to remain behind.”

“I would prefer to remain at your side, my lord,” Mirdania returned softly, wary glance only briefly touching upon Ereinion. With exhaustion solid upon his shoulders, the High-King gestured vaguely toward the door.

“I cannot stop you.”

With a derisive huff Celebrimbor strode back toward the entryway, stopping only when the door flew open on the account of Galadriel. Her hair was mussed and her cheeks were flushed as though she had tested even Elven sprinting capabilities to arrive.

“Ereinion, you must recon-! Tyelpe! Had I known you were here as well-!”

A usual customary smile was ignored, in this moment. Ereinion stood from his desk, wearily addressing the intruding elleth.

“State your business, Galadriel. I will not rescind my orders for you to not meddle in Elrond’s recovery.”

Driven by a small flare of ire sparking in her eyes, Galadriel marched over to the nearest window, throwing open the curtains to reveal the darkened night sky.

Never had the light of Gil-Estel been so faint.

Círdan’s warning of Elrond’s labile state flitted to the forefront of his mind, all thoughts of the tiring business of riding back out to the Havens so swiftly banished in less than a moment.

“We go with haste.”

 

- - -

 

Camnir stood in frozen terror as Elrond disappeared under the water.

This was his fault.

This was his fault, yet he could not bring himself to move. Nuréin was the first to grab ahold of the peredhel, dripping wet himself now and snarling when Lorel attempted to help him. For once, the other guard backed off, seeing the wildness in Nuréin’s eyes and retreating to grab Mellírin’s shoulder, muttering darkly about going to stoke Círdan’s fireplace. The shipwright himself had already returned inside, though he had rejoined the others once Nuréin had brought Elrond ashore, bristling with barely contained emotion.

Elrond’s eyes were open and glassy, lips lightly staining blue. Nuréin quickly shoved him over onto his side as his cousin pressed a gentle hand between his shoulder blades, murmuring a reassurance before she turned to her friend.

“Pulse is slow, but cardiac arrest has not set in. He has stopped breathing-”

Círdan took a knee behind Elrond’s back, his hand - now adorned in a glimmering blue ring - jabbing his spread-out fingers behind where his lungs would be.

Instantly Elrond coughed and spluttered, water shooting up and out of his lungs at Círdan’s urging and streaming from his nostrils and mouth as his body frantically tried to breathe again. A retch followed, Elrond vomiting up tea and sea water both while Círdan let the warmth of his palm sink in along his back, Mellírin wiping excess water from his face and eyes without care for dirtying her sleeve. A soft Song left her lips as her fingertips gently ran down to settle above his heart, gently asking of it to slow from the rapid pace it had been spurred into.

Camnir was barely cognizant of Lorel coming outside to grab him by the arm and steer him inward, demanding something about grabbing a blanket or a towel or both - still, he could see the way Nuréin all but bent in half on the sodden sand and gravel, his voice no longer its usual even tone as awareness started to return to Elrond’s gaze.

“You - I will not, we, we will not let you, just let you - let you die, not when I could - when we could yet save you, hinya!”

Camnir could not help but shudder at the ache and fear poorly laced under anger. It was almost enough emotion to break through the numbness in his own bones.

Elrond’s wild eyes tracked between the three at his side, curls plastered to his scalp as panic festered into a corrupt blossom in his chest. He easily recalled breathing in water, the burning and sharp pangs of fear and pain stabbing from all sides - thoughts incessantly battering against the throbbing wound that was his fëa as his mind threatened to and eventually did black out beneath the waves.

I shouldn’t have done this to Camnir.

Is this the best option? Fading was easier-!

Is pain not supposed to cease in death?

I did not want them to watch-!

The fragmented whispers threatened to overwhelm him again, throat now raw and eyes still burning from salt. The world outside of his head was hard to focus on, but bits and pieces still filtered through.

“I am sure Loreláthon has warmed the sitting room by now. Come, let us dry and refresh him.”

Círdan’s voice was soothing and calm, almost as though it was an ordinary evening. Nuréin immediately went to pull Elrond up and scoop him into his hold, earning a weakly flailing fist from the herald while Mellírin made a noise of dismay, more solidly whacking him on the shoulder.

“Gentle, cousin! Not so roughly - mecin, we must be calm!”

Elrond did not feel calm. Pressure was closing in again as he realized how cornered he was, the anxiety blocking his ears and sight as he desperately tried to tune the world out.

Nuréin was hardly any better. As though holding flame itself he nearly dropped his charge at his kin’s concern only for her to brace Elrond’s other side, worry flashing in the deep blue of her eyes as she glanced between them.

Upon entering Círdan’s domicile once again Elrond was deposited on the couch closest to the fire-pit, Lorel shouldering in to towel the moisture from his hair and face with a surprisingly gentle touch.

“I’m not going to bother asking what you were thinking, because clearly you weren’t. I won’t even snitch on you, just this once.” Not that he could control the others, but that wasn’t the point.

“It would be wisest if we gave him some space,” Círdan offered softly, giving a small smile to Elrond as he did. “I think I will take a walk and reassure any witnesses that all is fine. Would anyone else like some air?”

“We would - we would love some air, wouldn’t we, cousin?” Mellírin urged, gaze as sharp as an eagle’s talons and the hand on his back more of a warning than an ask. Lorel sniffed airily in their direction, rolling his eyes so that none present would dare assume he gave a horse’s ass about the situation. “Think I’ll step out too. Right outside, by the door. Seems a good place to lean back for a bit.”

Camnir looked between the slowly retreating party and Elrond. Lorel gave a curt nod, as though unsurprised that he hadn’t moved, while the embrace of Mellírin’s mind against his own soothed the rapid beating of his heart.

“Be safe, melda. Should his health fail suddenly… I will be within reach. The ring should have prevented any lasting harm, I would think… I know you fear for him, but know that I trust you. I think he must, as well.”

Camnir still felt akin to a statue by the time he was left alone with his dear, shivering friend. Anguish cloaked his fëa, but he sat down next to Elrond and quietly took his hands into his own, thumbs running small circles along the clammy skin to instill warmth.

They sat in silence like that for a long while - long enough that Camnir saw Círdan walk past a window and nod approvingly toward him before going on to feign further discussion. Lorel kept peeking as well, face set like stone.

He did not hear more from Mellírin, but he felt her presence reach out to him and settle as though she was yet holding his hand, the simple feeling grounding and centering Camnir in what he wanted to do.

It was Elrond that spoke first, the shadows under his eyes dark enough to be mistaken for bruises.

“Goheno nin, Camnir.” His voice was a rasp, and for a brief moment, Camnir had hope that perhaps Elrond would acknowledge the foolishness of his impulses and begin to make amends. The thought was dashed upon the rocks more swiftly than he dared dream. “You should not have had to see that.”

The dam burst, and Camnir’s head dipped as tears began to drip onto their clasped hands. He could feel Mellírin’s presence against him reach out to try and comfort, but for once, Camnir dared to bat her away, though his next thought was to apologize for such harshness - oh, he was upset, but not with her.

“That wasn’t kind.” The words were barely a whisper, voice threatening to break if any louder. Camnir did not see Elrond’s stricken expression, but he felt him try to pull a hand back and refused to let it go. “I know what happened. Galadriel informed me. I did not know that such inane violence imparted upon you would… would literally smack the kindness out from you. Ai, Elrond, I know life has not been kind, but that you would suddenly - suddenly turn your back on all that you are? You - Y-You used…”

“Camnir…”

The cartographer felt Elrond escape his hold as his own fingers tingled with numbness, the breaths in his chest shallow and useless. Two sturdy arms then pulled him close in an embrace, Camnir accepting the hug as he wept into Elrond’s shoulder. The rumble of Elrond speaking was a balm to his soul, but the words themselves immediately reignited the blaze within.

“You are cold, mellon nín. You have been…”

This time when Camnir came to the gates of Elrond’s mind prepared to knock with full force, he found that there were no walls at all.

Camnir sunk to his knees before Elrond’s bed, hand holding tightly to the limp one closest to him. Tears had already begun to well up as Mellírin slowly closed the eyes that had been staring blankly at the wall.

“Ui, he isn’t - he can’t be!”

“He has Faded, Camnir.”

“Why would he not let me - he always had let me in before, did I - did I do something wrong?”

“No, never. Never. There is nothing wrong with you.”

A pause, Mellírin grimacing as she glanced to the door, desperately swallowing her own grief. “One moment, my love. One moment.”

She strode swiftly to the door after taking up a knife from Elrond’s desk, staring up into apathetic eyes with ones that threatened rain.

“Send for Vorohil. Now.”

Vändel scoffed, arms folded down at the elleth. “I do not answer to-”

The healer brandished the weapon without hesitation, color tinting her cheeks as finally the rain from the sky mixed with the drops of her own creation. “You will send for Vorohil now or I will be deft in making it so that you will never have the chance to sire even a single traitorous spawn!”

Camnir could barely hear the threats only feet away from him. He cupped Elrond’s face with his hand as he shook like the golden leaves in an autumn breeze, leaning over to press a kiss upon his brow before his face crumpled further. It was then that he rested their foreheads together, ignoring the familiar hand comfortingly resting on his back as a sob escaped him.

“Why did you go where one ought not follow? I have so few friends, and even fewer as dear as you! What did we do wrong? Please, please return that you might simply tell me how I’ve erred!”

The next to walk in was Yenneth, her eyes widening slightly at the scene while Mellírin looked at her helplessly.

“I only left briefly to restock - what has happened?”

“He is dead,” Mellírin warbled, arms loosely around Camnir. Yenneth appraised the situation at hand for only moments before nodding, face calm and devoid of the mourning that would come later, as it always did.

“I can tend to it alone.”

Permission granted, the younger maiden started to pull Camnir toward the washroom, desperate for a space in which they could fall apart and come back together in peace.

Vorohil joined later, having given the message asked of him. He was quick to aid Mellírin in steadying their companion, silent as he was with no words comforting enough to offer. They remained locked together for a quiet stretch of time, the only proof of any passing at all being the distress echoing from the room beyond the door. Vorohil had only stepped out for one more brief moment to assess for updates before he returned, pale as a sheet and voice astounded in its disbelief.

“He’s alive. His fëa has - he’s alive, Camnir.”

Not even the High-King could stop the force of a lone map-maker as he rushed to embrace his barely-conscious friend.

“Camnir,” Elrond ached, letting his hold tighten, if only a little. “I did not know. I promise you will not - I will make sure you are not there. I do not want you to have to see…”

Fawn eyes gave a stare that was half incredulous and half agonized as Camnir pulled back, lip quivering before he got as close to raising his voice as he had ever dared: “Stop! Please, stop! Do you truly think that I will be less likely to Fade in grief for you if I simply do not witness it? You are the one Elf in Lindon I consider myself closest to, Elrond! Without you it may continue to house me, but it will not be home! And to think that you - you used me without a second’s hesitation, used my care for you to - to-!”

Camnir’s head fell, gasp stuttering in his chest as he tried to regain control of his breathing. Elrond ached at his side, the numbness he had felt since being sentenced to his chambers crumpled up and thrown into the fire-pit only to be replaced with a burdening pain he had not felt since he had finally acknowledged Elros’ death.

“I know that much has always been placed upon your shoulders,” Camnir murmured, shaking his head ruefully. “I know that you bear the weight of more than most kings ever know. I have - I have finally felt your wounds, your frustration, now that you have no longer cast me aside. I saw it, and I… I beg of you. If you are doing this in no small part to spite your brother for not - not letting you Fade, of all things…”

“There is so much Darkness, Camnir,” Elrond returned, heat in his throat betraying the tears that would soon be shed from him, as well. When was the last time he had properly wept? Hours ago, or days? Weeks? Longer? “It isn’t fair to ask me to weather it. I am not built to withstand it all. What is the use in continuing when it will only continue to fall into Shadow again?”

“You are wise. You are wise, and kind, and tenderhearted. You return fledglings to nests when they fall and the streams sing when you walk alongside them. You are quick in blade and in tongue and I truly believe that there is nothing you cannot do.”

Camnir looked right into Elrond’s eyes as he paused, adamant and stubborn in all the ways he had learned from his friend. “But I do not care for the wonders you possess, the way you lead, the way you shape the world around you through word-craft and a loving heart! I care that you are simply you, even if you never did another thing of use again, even if you disappeared from all the histories of the world - I am not afraid to stand against the Darkness because of you, not the tool of the Valar or scion of noble blood, not as soldier nor poet nor gilded king, if you ever wished it - only as a friend.”

“I… I cannot mean so much to you.” He was a bother more than anything else, was he not? Traitorous and too quick to shirk the duties of the kingdom? Tossed away by every father and mother before him as leftover scraps of the twin that did choose to rule?

Never had Elrond heard the noise of irritation that Camnir then made, squeezing his companion’s hands fiercely before he mustered a look of intensity that would surely make other mice pause.

“Allow me to state it in a language you understand, then.”

What he meant by that Elrond could not figure until the words were already hitting the air between them.

“Elrond Peredhel. I swear an oath to you that all I could ever want of you is your eventual happiness and peace. Should you never lift a blade, I will stand by you. Should you denounce all Elvenkind and choose to wander Middle-Earth as a hermit, I will support you. You have my love and loyalty without question, without condition, and if - knowing that surely none around you will allow you to commit any more harm unto yourself, I swear that if the only way you can be happy is to die, then let it be by my hand.”

Every drop of blood in Elrond’s body went cold, mouth suddenly horribly dry despite his near-drowning. An oath, an oath, and paired with such an offer-

“I mean it, Elrond. Search all my fëa for the truth of it, if you must. I only want your happiness, so say the word, and I’ll do it. I’ll… I’ll cut you down, here and now, if only you ask. Is that what you wish? Is it death that would help?”

Elwing had abandoned him.

Maedhros and Maglor had handed him over without a second thought.

Gil-Galad had struck him for opposing the possibility of Sauron.

Elros had forced him to remain, no matter how miserable.

Yet Camnir would commit a kinslaying if he so much as asked.

Camnir, who had likely never killed a single thing before. Camnir, who could hardly hold a penknife properly, who shied away from blood. Camnir, too bashful to be open in his affections, even when Elrond had already foreseen his joyous, glowing grin as he held a golden-haired infant securely to his chest.

Just as Elrond knew he would one day hold twin peredhel in his own arms.

He was right. There was no way he’d be allowed to be unsupervised in any way for the next century, if not longer. He would not be able to pull such a stunt again because-

Because despite their flaws, and despite his own, his friends loved him just the same as Camnir did. Nuréin would not haul him from the sea if he did not desire to. Lorel would have simply killed him by now if he was truly such a bother. Celebrimbor would be without kin in this world, a fate Elrond knew the sting of, and hated to think of happening to another. Galadriel had wept for him, and Ereinion-

Ereinion had at least halted his jump from the falls, despite the harm he caused not moments later.

“If you slay me, you will surely Fade.” He could not ask for such guilt to siege Camnir. He would in no world be able to withstand it atop the grief.

“I am willing to pay that price if it buys you relief.”

A dry, wry voice that sounded an awful lot like an old stable-hand curled through his mind. Perhaps the both of you need to talk to Mellí about self-preservation and esteem, join a whole class with ol’ Nuréin.

Elrond was suddenly very, very tired, especially so if he was hearing words of wisdom in the form of Lorel. What he wanted to say he picked over; it felt immeasurably heavy, but he found there to be no lie in the statement:

“I do not want respite so much that I would ask you to deliver it to me by your hand.”

Maybe he needed more sleep. More food and water, more time to talk about the torrent of emotion wounds so tightly in his chest. Fresh air and the scent of nature in his nose and the feeling of wind in his hair.

Camnir wasn’t sure which, exactly, would be the best medicine prescribed by the healers - nor did he want to diminish Elrond’s feelings by pointing out how much better he might feel if he only took care of himself. That would undoubtedly be Yenneth’s job, for she had no qualms about being straightforward and did not approach treatment with any standardized concept of a bedside manner.

But all of that could come in time. Elrond was weary, eyelids fluttering as he was spent from his eventful evening and emotional breakthrough. Camnir let him rest against him, holding him in an embrace and letting himself blanket every raw, bleeding wound of Elrond’s spirit with tentative bundles of hope and care.

“There are good things left in this world, Elrond,” he implored, both aloud and softly into his mind. There would certainly be dark days, times of loss, and hurt unimaginable, but… “They’re worth fighting for.”

Elrond was worth fighting for.

Notes:

just one more time imma say it bc the therapist behind the keyboard wants to be so clear: assisted suicide like camnir is offering is not the way to go!! getting someone else to kill you on purpose is still suicide and 0/10 do not recommend!! however this is fiction so moving on

i SWEAR next chapter is resolution and softer i swear i swear i s w e a r. elrond is gonna eat and have water and sleep and get some fresh air and you would be Amazed how much that really can help. as said by a client often, "if i want to kill myself i make a sandwich and take a shower and a nap and if i feel even a little bit better after then i won't do it" - and that base of selfcare to a bit of emotional communication and just Talking about how he's feeling and elrond is halfway to therapy,

already told neocolai but i will also probably write a little side one-shot that shows what's happening between mell and nur during this chapter because neocolai was foolish enough to expose vulnerability points on their OCs and i am ruthless about themmm fun fact, "hína" means "child" but "hinya" means "my child" and boy howdy this fic is rife with ptsd all around huh

"There are good things left in the world, Mr. Frodo, and they're worth fighting for." is my number one quote of all time and the only thing holding me together half the time so i had to shout it out yknow,

Chapter 6: 'cause you'll reach up and you'll rise again

Notes:

[big bird kicking down the door vine]

deep breath. hi! hello! i'm alive! and it's four am so 'fixing my sleep schedule' is clearly not working, but... i wanted to get this done! for you! <3 you might notice that for the first time in this fic, the chapter title is not from waving through a window - instead it is from you will be found, still deh, but... with the opposite vibe.

phew, it's been some time! i have my MACLP (masters in clinical psychology!) now and am playing the waiting game of transcripts and time for applying for license to be a True Proper Therapist, now. the last couple months of grad school + working with clients was full of burn out, and i love this fic, but it's heavy, and i had to deal with way too many ppl irl wanting to die, yknow? but hey: hyperfixation back and focused? check. school done? check. work done? check. headspace ready for this? check.

thank you so much for your patience! and if you're reading this straight bc you only read finished fics (so real for that tbh lmao) ignore me and just enjoy the show it definitely hasn't been multiple months or anything-
skip this big ol text chunk to ignore the Therapist Discussion
a last little reminder/note for this chapter, since it's been a while since some of you have read this, probably: everyone's experience is different, including depression and suicidal ideation/attempts. i know some who have a very, very hard time pulling out of a dark and depressive episode, and that is completely normal and valid for those who experience it. there are others that are more similar to how i've written elrond in this fic, specifically: sometimes depressive symptoms build, but aren't noticed, and then something Happens or it all becomes too much and you hit the breaking point where suddenly all your brain can think of as a solution is suicide. sometimes it's out of misery, sometimes you just can't imagine what else you can do to make it stop hurting. in the case of elrond, here, i specifically tailor it to something that can be quite common, but doesn't happen for everyone: sometimes that moment of the attempt, once it's over, provides a certain frenzied, terrified clarity. the oh, i almost just died, but something/someone stopped it, i almost died, that's scary, i don't actually want to die, but i can't stop thinking about death or leaning toward it, i need help - and this thought process is often something that can bring people into therapy for the first time. that recognition after the Moment of oh, this is bad, i'm in a bad place, i need help to work through this - and it's definitely a protective factor. but i know it doesn't reflect everyone, so some might go "wow, elrond really went from i will do Anything to die to oh nvm actually" and find that unrealistic - it might be, to what you know/your experiences! i don't put a lot of time focusing on elrond's slowly recovering mental state here, and how he goes from feeling anxious and fragile about what has happened with "i want to die, but that's not right" to "i want to be dead, to escape this, but i won't try that" to "i think i want to live" to "i will fight for my life again" - hell, that process takes p much the whole of the Third Age for him, in my mind, and the remainder of the Second. in a way, this is a bit of a fond appreciation letter to one of the clients i worked with, who i'll probably never see again: knowing that she had an attempt and went "this is bad, actually, i am going to get help" after a complete stranger stopped her is something that remains so loud in my heart for the pride in seeing that choice made. know that if any of you are struggling, it can get better, i promise, really, but that first step is hard and can take a lot of effort to make.

it is now four fifteen am, so i will move on, with just this bit-
tw: you've read the rest of the fic, so still lots of discussion on suicide/suicidal ideation. there is also a very, very brief mention of animal (squirrel) death at the beginning, and hints at child loss re: neocolai count your days

ty for listening to me yap,

Nuréin could remember his cousin running up to him when she was only knee high. “Gwanur, help!” she had cried, cupping a fledgling sparrow in her hands. “You can heal him, right? Please-”

He had shown her how to splint the little bird’s broken leg, had showed her how she could make a bed of moss and how to feed it appropriately until it recovered. He had watched her beam in delight when it had indeed done so, old enough now that its feathers had grown out and it could fly away. She had been fascinated by his knowledge of medicine, even though she had been the one to further its healing with the little bits of Song she practiced on it.

For a time, it seemed she believed him capable of anything.

“Cousin Nuréin!” Mellírin had wept, almost up to his waist. “This peccuvo fell into the lake from the trees, by the time I fished her out she no longer drew breath! Heal her, mecin, Nuréin!”

One glance at the squirrel was enough to know it was too far gone, drowned. He had deftly taken it from her hands, tugging gently on her braid to get her to let go. “It is too late, winimo. It has already passed beyond.”

“Can we not help it?” To crush the hope in those bright eyes had been hard, but it would have been all the more wretched to lie to her.

“Ui, no, I am sorry. You did not do anything wrong, Mell. You got to it as fast as you could, and did all that you were able to. Sometimes creatures depart from Eru’s will too swiftly, but we cannot unwrite death. We are no Valar.”

“What if I had Sang? What if I had jumped into the lake to save it?”

“You did not know how quickly it would drown, cousin,” Nuréin had soothed, leading her away to a secluded patch of ground where they might bury it. “Doing something reckless could have harmed yourself. The little peccuvo would not have wanted you to be injured as well - it is hard, but sometimes we must accept the death that haunts mortal beings. Even the Eldar can die, especially a little Elfling who has only just started swimming well. You tried your best, and that is what matters. Its death is not your fault.”

It had taken a lot of consoling and comfort, but then, Mellírin had yet been unaccustomed to grief. She had known that mortal creatures would age and die, and had been satisfied knowing that they had had a full life for their kind, but a life taken before it was ready?

They were taken far too often of late.

“Nuréin, I beg of you. This silence smothers your fëa.”

Mellírin had mostly kept the peace as they rode to Lindon, where the High-King had now posted him. His cousin had balked at his departure and had demanded to follow, as though there were any foolish enough to hold her back - but even she, it seemed, had been unable to remain silent the whole way.

It didn’t matter. It had nothing to do with him. He was fine, had to be fine. There was no other way to be.

“You are not listening to me.”

He had trusted Lannah. Why would he not have? He was their son. Their son.

“Nuréin!”

The shout had not startled him, but his cousin urging her horse to pull in front of his own had certainly stopped them both in their tracks. It was only then that he had noticed the droplets on her cheeks, the way she held her reins so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

“Please, Nuréin. I do not wish to lose you.”

“I am right here.”

His answer had not gone over well. “Yes, you ride at my side in body, yet your spirit is halfway across the sea! I am no fool, Nuréin - do you think I do not know that you will throw yourself so haphazardly into missions that you will die without question? I am not following you so that I can attend to your burial rites.”

“Then why follow at all?”

“I love you, cousin,” Mellírin had reached out as she pulled up once more to his side, hand barely managing to cup one of his cheeks. “I miss him, too. Beyond starlight, beyond words, beyond all measure. You told me not to blame myself-”

“It was not your fault,” had come the stern interjection, eyes shining like steel. “You cannot heal an ailment you were not aware existed.”

“-yet you continue to act as though you are the one at fault! You were not even there, Nuréin! At least I was in his vicinity!”

“I a- I. I was his father! His father! His death is on my shoulders!”

“The only fault there is to bear belongs to Lannah,” she had hissed, breath catching briefly in her throat. “You got there as fast as you could. You did not know he was ailing. If you had remained behind from the start you would have smothered him before he could blossom, and he would have learned to resent you. You did your best by him, and that is what mattered. His death is not your fault.”

“I wish it had been me instead.”

“You would have him left with no father and a mother who cannot look after her own child, and he would have suffered all the more for it. You taught me yourself, if you will recall: We cannot unwrite death. He would not want you to-”

“To what, pray tell? To mourn him? To honor him? To miss him-?”

“To never smile again.”

It had been silent for moments after, with little but the wind and stomping of their horses for noise. Mellírin had taken the opportunity to wipe her face clean.

Nuréin’s well of tears had long since run dry.

Nuréin could feel the tears upon his cheek now, if not for the panic in his breast and numbness crawling along his skin.

“Gwanur, look at me,” Mellírin murmured, running her thumbs over his knuckles as she held his hands in her own. “Feel the coolness of the rocks beneath us, of the wind prickling our flesh. Look at me, Nuréin.”

The rocks were cold. She was right about that. They were sitting upon rocks by the shore of the Havens, the stars providing plenty of light to see by. Her hands were trembling. His were trembling, as well? There was dampness on his face.

“Elrond will be… will be okay,” the elleth murmured, a brief far-away look hinting at the thoughts being passed between her and another. “Camnir says that he has finally been allowed into Elrond’s mind - that Elrond’s urge to leap into the hold of death is waning. He will not try again, not tonight at the very least, and I am inclined to believe him.”

His pulse still hammered far too loudly in his ears. His cousin pursed her lips, gaze fixed on their joined hands.

It was a simple enough understanding to come to, really. She had heard his words and distress at seeing Elrond walk into the water to drown, the slip of the tongue as he had not only addressed Elrond as a child, but his.

“You saved him, Nuréin.”

Finally, words. “Ui. Lorel… Lorel spotted it. It happening.”

“You bested us all in running for him,” she pushed back, unimpressed. “You reached the water before any of us, you pulled him out, you saved him. How can we know that any of us would have been fast enough? Drowning can be quick. Too quick for even Song to save.”

Nuréin choked on his sob, head bowing as he let his cousin’s reassurances sweep over him.

“You were fast enough. You got to him in time. You did everything you could, and he - he will be okay. What happened before did not happen again.

“And to think,” came the faintest of teases, humor a welcome cover for the excess of adrenaline and anxiety that filled them both, “that you once were so close to how he has been lately. Where would we be now, without you?”

Nuréin exhaled, letting Mellírin embrace him in a hug, exhaustion tugging at his frame. She was not entirely correct, but there certainly had been times when he had wanted nothing more than to cease existing entirely. To Fade or die in battle and not need to think about pain and suffering again… but she would have been sad to be left in Lindon without kin.

And no doubt Lorel would have been flayed alive by now without him.

The hug was grounding and soothing all at once, allowing for Nuréin to let the panic dissolve from his veins and let the past remain where it belonged. There was no need to bury another in a grave this night, it was not his responsibility to ensure.

The High-King had already dug himself one far deep enough.

 

- - -

 

By the time the High King and his entourage reached Mithlond, the sun had nearly reached its midday height. Riding through the night was often frustrating, but doing so after having just been to the Gray Havens was even more exhausting.

Ordinarily Gil-Galad did not travel without official guards. As it was, their company remained simply the four of them - Galadriel would be plenty soldier enough to protect the rest of them if absolutely necessary, as if they could not handle themselves. Well, to be true, Gil-Galad was not sure of Mirdania’s skill with a weapon, but woe to any fool that placed themself between Celebrimbor and one of his smiths.

Eärendil’s light had grown distressingly dim as their journey began, but by the time the sun had risen, it flickered in the sky at its usual constant.

That fact was not as soothing as any of them wished. Gil-Galad prayed that he would have heard if the worst had happened - if not from a messenger that would have crossed their paths by now, then by a bird akin to the ones that had fetched Celebrimbor and Mirdania - but alas, Mellírin knew the whole of what had happened, and he was not so blind to have not noticed her ire.

Yet the woodworkers around Círdan’s home did not seem to be distressed. Besides that, there were three recognizable figures down by the shore.

“Ah, there - Mellírin.” Mirdania supplied with a tentative smile, slowing her steed.

“As well as those two oafs,” Galadriel added, wrinkling her nose as she took a second to think. Sure enough, Mellírin and Nuréin were laying down upon the sand, Lorel sharpening what she prayed was merely a carving knife from where he sat on the nearest rock to them, though it remained a ways away.

The second his eyes glimpsed them, his sharpening picked up both speed and intensity.

“What brings your lot back here?” His lip curled minutely, keeping his eyes squarely on Galadriel - Mirdania had not done anything to earn his temper, and loathe as he was to admit it, now was not the time nor place to pick fights with lords. “Don’t bother ‘em. Everyone’s had a long night.”

Sure enough, Nuréin lazily batted at his cousin’s shoulder when she shifted. Galadriel took a deep breath.

“Featherbrain’s been running on less than fumes, so Nur’s forcing her to take a nap. Keeping calm himself by looking toward the sky and the clouds, you would not believe a word from my mouth about how he’s been acting this past night. No thanks to certain present company-”

“Loreláthon,” Galadriel warned, though Ereinion held up a hand to stop her.

“I have earned this,” he assured her softly through ósanwe, ending things before they began.

Celebrimbor, on the other hand, refused to halt in his concern. “What of the others? Elrond-”

“-ran into the sea last night with the intent to drown himself. Manipulated the mapmaker into leaving him alone long enough to escape, hightailed it for the waves, and took in water the second he was deep enough to sink. I watched it happen from the second he stepped foot outside. My shouts didn’t stop him, but they sure drew a larger crowd.”

With a flippant gesture of his hand, images assaulted their senses. Elrond, clad for sleep, running out toward the ocean, ignoring the sound of Lorel’s calls. At some point, a shriek from Mellírin that he was going to drown himself, and Nuréin beating the rest to the water and the peredhel himself, dragging his thrashing - and then suddenly limp - body out to land. The memory was rife with emotion, horror and anger so thick that it could almost be tasted, even as the water was removed from Elrond’s lungs, even as he was tethered back to the realm of the living by those around him, Vilya glinting in the starlight.

“Then he yet lives,” Celebrimbor gave a trembling breath, heart briefly still in his chest. “Ai, the fool, he lives - of all the fathers he has claimed, I feared he might truly have followed in Maedhros’ wake…”

“He is resting, presently.”

Círdan gave a small wave as he exited his abode, nodding with an ever-warm smile to those who had only just arrived. “Between Fading and his unfortunate excursion last night, he has begun to take ill. The stress on both body and mind are to blame, without doubt, but it is only a minor sickness. I have no question in my mind that he will be of able-body once again by the end of a tennight, but in the meantime, he will be taken care of here. You are most welcome to stay, Lord Celebrimbor. I am certain that your proximity will be most welcome. At this moment, he sleeps; his companion Camnir is doing such as well by his side.”

“Is it wise to leave him with only someone dreaming in attendance?” Galadriel considered, voice wavering only slightly at the implications of her concern. “Lorel has made it clear that he took advantage of Camnir’s kindness last night. It will be all the easier to if he is resting himself, even with his continued sight and hearing. Frankly, Camnir had been Fading himself when he departed - I would not be surprised if he, too, was in a deeper sleep.”

“That issue is resolved,” Círdan replied softly, beckoning the four to his homestead and leaving Lorel where he sat, dismissing them with a grunt and little else. “Everyone has had a long and difficult night, no matter what they may state later. I hear your worry for his safety, Lady Galadriel, and I assure you: I do not believe that young Elrond will attempt such a thing again.

“Vilya whispers the certainty of his resolve, now,” he continued, gesturing to where the ring lay innocently upon his table. “He had a long conversation with his friend last night, and since then, he has changed… for the better. His attempt to drown is very worrying, however, so know that he remains watched nonetheless - should Camnir not notice and stir upon him doing something reckless, the gulls on his windowsill will.”

“You are… rebuilding trust with him,” Galadriel tried, uneasy at the circumstance but reluctantly willing to admit its importance. “If you hounded Elrond with a minder every hour of the day, his mood would sour and become unruly again quite quickly. Animals, however, are free of the judgment his peers might pass… and some often act as eyes and ears of the Valar, it seems. Or, at least, of Elros, if not those of far grander importance than he.”

“Mellí can charm any bird she tries,” Mirdania offered, grin timid, “and they all seem quite fond of Herald Elrond.”

“Indeed. Though his actions of late have been troubling, I would not withdraw trust in him now. His fëa and his words are in congruence with what Vilya senses within him - I do not see him tempting death again for quite some time, if ever. These two attempts, Fading and drowning both… they are the culmination of pain, and loss, and grief too heavy for any one being to bear. His judgment was clouded and unable to perceive of much past his own numbing anguish - yet last night he wept, and he spoke, and he both accepted comfort and returned it in kind. To end up at a point so low so swiftly frightened him, more than anything else. He was plain.”

A small image of Elrond sitting on Círdan’s couch manifested as the elder allowed for them to judge Elrond’s conviction coming from his own mouth. He fidgeted, dark circles under his reddened eyes as his fingers worried what at the time had been a blanket in his lap.

“I cannot say whether or not these… feelings will come over me again, in time. But know that I - even should despair befall me once more, I… it is mine to bear. I will not abandon those around me to suffer its consequences.”

“If not for himself, he will not succumb for the want of others.”

None chose to comment on the wetness of Celebrimbor’s eyes as the memory diminished, Círdan’s words not as soothing as he would have wished.

 

- - -

 

It was warm. Perhaps overly warm, though the sheets were beginning to cool to his side. There was a large, calloused hand upon his head, fingers gently and precisely sifting through curls with a tenderness that made his breast ache.

Elrond knew that touch anywhere.

“...Tyelpe?”

He opened his eyes to evening light, his cousin sitting at his bedside with a book in his lap. Upon seeing the hope and panic mix in his gaze, he gave the older ellon another minute to compose himself.

“I am glad to see you awake, dear Elrond.”

“You… are alive. Safe.”

“As are you.”

“But… Sauron,” Elrond tried, unsure how to impress upon Celebrimbor the urgency of the feelings that were tightening his throat. Exhaustion weighed him down, sharp pains pressing against his temples. A fair punishment, he had already decided, for the harm he had done toward those he knew more than ever he could count on - Camnir, especially. “He was…”

“Before you say anything else, Elrond,” Celebrimbor placated, firm and soft all at once with the last of his kin, “let me lay it bare: I am aware of the Deceiver’s identity. I did not bend to him in Eregion. Despite both those things being true, I would throw myself at his feet in an instant if it meant you lived, safe from harm.”

An anxious keen escaped Elrond as he sat up more, but where previously an argument would have quickly risen to his lips, now there was none.

Camnir swore an oath for him. Lorel and Nuréin took censure in his defense. Mellírin had threatened a kinslaying with Vändel for his benefit, if he was to believe Camnir’s haphazard story. Círdan only looked upon him with endless kindness and patience, never forcing him to speak. Galadriel had wept at his side when she had thought him dead and gone.

Celebrimbor would give himself to Sauron if only it secured his wellbeing.

“You need not - well, erm.” Celebrimbor paused, remembering the assurances Círdan had given before. “It is… alright to weep, Elrond. That is often how best we allow our hurts out.”

The lord of Eregion moved closer to embrace his cousin, pulling the younger into a steadfast hug and not caring when his clothes were wetted by tears. He could not, would not, substitute for his father, any of them - but still, he placed a gentle kiss upon his brow and murmured old tunes that none but Fëanorians would know. Oh, he wished to chide, to ask questions - but it was not the time for that.

It ached. Elrond ached. How could he even begin to express how he had felt of late to Celebrimbor? The sensation of panic knowing that Sauron had been right by their sides? The failure with Durin and the dwarves? The overwhelming, crushing sense of loneliness that he wore in the shape of his brother’s cloak ever since Elros’ passing? The searing pain of being twice-abandoned by mother and fathers alike, being struck by one he had placed his trust in above nearly all others?

How could he explain that he had felt akin to a ghost with no form, warning and begging and wailing for those around him to listen, please, listen to him, to him, not the jewels, not the rings-!

And the guilt. The crushing, devastating guilt that he could not outrun, now, in bed. The understanding of how there were those that had stood by him that he had discarded, too caught up in his own thoughts to consider, people he had ignored when he had been so frustrated by those doing the same to him?

There was war coming, there was darkness. The Shadow was encroaching day by day, and he had already Foreseen so much. How could he dare relay the visions of death and destruction that tormented him, agony that awaited each and every one of them should they continue down this path?

“You need not use that clever tongue of yours yet, arimelda. Take your time. I will always be here to listen to whatever you may need.”

Celebrimbor’s heartbeat was steady against Elrond’s ear, and he felt himself begin to relax at the rhythmic sound. He could tell him. Would tell him.

Tell him that when the water had filled his lungs, he had panicked.

Tell him that seeing Camnir cry because of him was more painful than the very strike that had started this spiral.

Tell him that he could not imagine going on knowing how much the Arda itself seemed against him.

Tell him that he could not bear wounding his companions in such a way, even if it meant enduring what was in store to come.

Tell him how frightening it was knowing that suffering could cloud judgment so quickly, even without Sauron’s influence.

Worst, that he would not regret being slain before his time, even if it was against the will of the Valar. That he was not sure how long it would take for that opinion to change, or if it ever would. If he was capable of living for himself, and not others, and if he ever had been before.

It would be better to get everything out of the way, cleared into the air between them.

Or… he could be selfish, this time, though he knew others would not even call this an act of selfishness.

Elrond took a deep breath, letting his cheek stay pressed against Celebrimbor’s chest, and let the Fëanorian lullabies soothe him.

 

- - -

 

The room was quiet. Despite a month having since passed since he had left the Gray Havens, Elrond knew that sparrows lurked outside of the window. Besides them, the only other around was the High-King himself.

He put down his pen, missives warning the dwarves of Sauron’s next movements set aside.

“High-King, may I speak plainly?”

Gil-Galad tensed, taking a moment to relax his grip before he gave a curt nod. “As ever, Elrond.”

“I must thank you for your judgment at the top of the falls.”

Gil-Galad’s head whipped toward his herald, eyes wide and bright with a wildness to them that once might have caused Elrond to shy away. Instead, he schooled the flinch that his body gave without permission.

“There is no need for that, Elrond.”

“You agreed to let me speak.”

The High-King’s jaw snapped shut, though his gaze begged Elrond not to go on. In turn, Elrond folded his hands together, running over the lines that ran circles in his head every night.

“It is possible you saved my life, though we do not know if the water would have claimed it.”

“I endangered your life twice over as a result,” Ereinion murmured, even as Elrond’s eyes flashed steel.

“I cannot… forgive Ereinion for what happened. I understand, however, Gil-Galad’s position in the matter. I understand you meant no harm, but considering that harm did take place, I simply wish to thank you for… the preparation.”

“Preparation?” Ereinion returned, searching Elrond’s face for answers he would not give. The peredhel simply nodded, eyes not rising to meet his own.

“Yes. Thank you for the preparation.”

At least now he was mending the wounds of shattered trust and betrayal. Watching the High-King fall in the battle to come would be easier, now. He would only have to mourn Gil-Galad when it came to be.

His grief of losing Ereinion was already spent.

 

 

 

 

 

Salt spray in the sea breeze was doing just as Camnir had once teased - Elrond’s hair was beginning to curl again.

The journey from darkness had been long and difficult. He had seen and Foreseen so much along the way, from the deaths of loved ones to the parting of others, the fall of kingdoms and loss of kin and countrymen.

Yet now, now he could hear Galadriel laugh, something that they had go so long without. He could hear Mellírin humming to her despondent son, could hear Mithrandir tell outlandish stories as though they were commonplace.

He had loved, lost, fought, and won. Weight seemed to lift from his shoulders as he took a heavy seat at Camnir’s side.

Camnir, as ever, was steady and welcoming with his smile. “My friend?”

Elrond took his hand and laced it gently in his own, placing it over where his heart beat in his chest.

“Thank you, mellon nín.”

“For…?”

Camnir quieted as understanding dawned on him, trailing off with warmth written across his face. “Of course.”

More than an Age had passed since the darkest of melancholy had gripped his fëa, whispering treasonous thoughts of death and oblivion. Now the sun was setting on the time of the Eldar, but oh, every sunset truly did carry no small amount of beauty, balancing the cold of night. Camnir had been right then, and he remained right now.

“It was worth it.”

Notes:

i missed lorel and nur and mel. rattles them around and throws them at a wall like silly putty. i am very sleepy so god help me when i wake and read what i posted and go "wtf is this"

thank you for your patience and all of your kudos and comments! i sure hope i remembered how to Write. thank you to neocolai especially for your own fic that this is inspired by bc god what a thought. what a muse. what a legend you are. nyris you are also not immune catch my hands /affectionate

i go bed now. im so tired i can't feel my face, whoops?