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Chapter Text

Light shone in through the windows of the small library Maglor was wandering, looking for some interesting tome with which to fill his time. He could have occupied himself more easily in the vast, maze-like main library of Rivendell of course, but many citizens were still quite wary of him.

At last, he spotted a musical theory textbook, at least the width of his palm, and decided that it would serve his purposes. He could at least ensure it was correct or revise it if need be. When he pulled the tome out, however, he was surprised to find another, much smaller, book that had fallen behind it.

Maglor set the tome aside and pulled the book out from its hiding place. It was a small, grey, battered thing that looked much like Elrond’s collection of Gil-Galad’s war journals. He glanced at the cover and was surprised to find that it was one of Gil-Galad’s journals, dated October 562 - March 563 FA. 

Maglor blinked and checked the date again. The librarians and scholars of Imladris had always joked about a missing journal in Gil-Galad’s collection, but they all assumed that it had been destroyed or never copied down; that it was simply lost to time. No one could have guessed that it had just been misplaced!

For a moment, Maglor considered giving it to the head librarian straight away, but he wanted to know what it said first. He flipped through the first few pages, which contained details of administration, troop movements, plans for the winter, and plans to inspect one of the Mannish camps. Maglor was about to put it down when he caught the words “Elrond”, “thrall”, and “abuse” on the next page.

Oh no. There was no way that could be a good thing. Maglor read the entire entry carefully from the beginning.

November the 6th, 562 of the First Age

I have inspected Tathaen’s camp and have found a glaring problem. The camp is well-kept, the men are disciplined, General Tathaen is a bastard charming and sharp of mind; however, they employ the use of thralls.

The general brought one of these thralls, Elrond, to my tent yester-eve to be of assistance to me. Not wishing to offend the general, who to that point had been quite kind to me, I accepted and allowed him to aid me in my correspondence. When we had finished, I attempted to dismiss him but he misunderstood my intentions and began making sexual advances on me. I rebuffed him and that is when I learned that he was a thrall, not simply a servant as I had thought. 

My original plan was to demote Tathaen and place another Man in his position, but an incident that occurred this morning has convinced me that that will not be enough. This camp must be dissolved entirely.

The thralls mistrust Elves almost as much as they do Men (although I do not yet know why), but this afternoon, I had the chance to speak with several of them and observe their living conditions. They are, in a word, appalling. There are approximately one-hundred-and-ninety thralls in this camp, most of whom are children, and they are all crammed into a single large tent. Small children often sleep three to a cot and babies are passed around to sleep with whomever will take them.

They are expected to work from sunup until an hour or so after sundown with no breaks and only a single meal. Abuse of all kinds is rampant among them. They have told me that they are beaten as a common punishment for mistakes or tardiness and most report having been sexually harassed at one time or another.

One thing that deeply disturbs me is the seeming “subclass” of thralls that are designated as prostitutes. They are mostly young girls, although a not insignificant percentage of them are boys. Very few of them are adults.

Most of these thralls have said that their punishments are usually of a more sexual nature and, for the sake of anyone who reads this hereafter, I shall not record the details. Suffice to say that they are ghastly. I only wonder at the depravity of these people, and how foul deeds can spread so quickly.

I now wonder also what should become of the now-former thralls. The adults may join the war-effort voluntarily of course, or they could go to Mithlond and receive some type of vocational training. The children will be more difficult. I would like for all of them to be fostered, but that may not be possible. I will likely have to establish some sort of temporary group-home or orphanage.

Elrond and Elros I shall foster myself. Elrond is certainly one of the bed-thralls I wrote of earlier, and easily terrified, but also incredibly intelligent and surprisingly well-educated. Already he can read and write in several scripts! My main concern in raising him will likely be teaching him how not to be so easily taken advantage of again.

Elros, on the other hand, has nearly the opposite problem. He is easily angered and will lash out unexpectedly. He has not left his brother’s side all day (Elrond was injured during the aforementioned “incident”). I worry that he cares about his brother exclusively and is neglecting his own feelings, which has led to a buildup of anger.

Both of them bear startling good will towards the Fëanorians

Alas that they did not bring them to me directly! And yet, I cannot truly blame them. Before I learned of the thralls, even I had thought Tathaen a wise and kindly man. How much more easily must they have been deceived, desperate as they surely are?

Maglor set the journal down beside him in a daze. A thousand thoughts flew through his head. How could he have let that happen? How had he not known that something was amiss with that rat-bastard of a general? He had seen how young the servants were; why had he not looked into them? Why had they not listened for news to ensure the twins had gotten to Gil-Galad safely!?

Was it too late to apologize?

It was most certainly too late to apologize to Elros; too late by millenia, but perhaps not too late for Elrond. Maglor didn’t understand how Elrond could be so kind to him in the face of all his sins. But then, what was this but just another sin against Elrond in a list as long as he was tall?

Gil-Galad may not have blamed Maglor and his brother, but Maglor could not help the doubt, shame, and self-hatred that blossomed inside his heart. Gil-Galad had not condemned his sons to slavery; mistakenly or no!

Maglor looked at the journal in his unburnt hand. Such a little thing… And yet it could wreak so much havoc were it in the wrong hands.

He had a sneaking suspicion who had hidden it in the first place.

After only a heartbeat’s deliberation, Maglor stood and tucked the journal back in its place, concealing it once again with the musical theory textbook. The hiding place had clearly serviced for centuries, if not millenia.

He had an apology to make.

Elrond smiled to himself as he breathed in the warm afternoon air. It was days like these, in between the stresses of ruling the valley and keeping Vilya from the Enemy’s mind, that he could just remind himself that he was alive. His past was riddled with horrors, yes, but with the sun on his face, the wind playing through his hair, and the waterfalls misting the valley around him; he could almost pretend none of them had ever happened.

He heard his father’s characteristically heavy, uneven gait join him on the high-up balcony and Elrond greeted him cheerfully, without turning his face from the sun. “Good afternoon, Atto. What have you been up to today?”

Maglor said nothing, but joined him by the railing. Elrond glanced at him and was disheartened slightly to see his stony, and pained looking, face. 

Instantly worried, Elrond asked, “Have you had a bad day, or has something happened? I have made it quite clear that you are allowed to remain here undisturbed.”

“No I- I found a book…” he replied hesitantly.

Elrond raised an eyebrow. “I am not surprised. There are many books in my house. In fact, I should be much more surprised if you were unable to find one.”

Worry began to grow in Elrond’s heart when Maglor didn’t respond to his attempt at humor. Perhaps something had happened. But what could it be?

Pointedly not looking at Elrond, Maglor admitted, “I found Gil-Galad’s missing war journal. It- it detailed how the two of you met.”

“Ah.” Elrond’s good mood vanished in an instant. The sun grew dim, the wind still, the valley stifling. He could taste blood and suffering in the air. The ghosts of hands long dead roamed his body.

Maglor continued, barely noticing his change in demeanor. “I am so sorry Maedhros and I caused you to go through that. I should have checked up on you. I should have taken you straight to Gil-Galad myself - consequences be damned! You should never have been put in that situation. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Elrond said shortly. Had the valley always been so wide? So many people scrutinizing his every move? And where had all the air gone?

Maglor looked at him, concerned. “Elrond, are you alright?”

He extended his arm to place a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder, but Elrond pushed him away. “Don’t touch me!” He sounded angry. Elrond had never been an especially angry person.

Elrond immediately looked ashamed of himself and began backing away and retreating towards the building. “I- I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly. “Just give me some space. We can speak of this later.”

With that, he turned and all but fled inside. Maglor let him go and turned back to the valley. That had not gone well, not by any measure.

Chapter Text

“Arwen!” Arwen startled at the hoarse whisper and turned to see her brothers beckoning to her from a small room just off the hallway. She smiled and skipped into the room. Were they going to plan a prank?

Elladan and Elrohir’s pranks were legendary throughout Imladris, but as they had matured into adulthood, the frequency of such childish jokes had slowed to a stop. On occasion, however, they would plan a joke for Arwen’s sake.

Elrohir poked his head out into the hall and, seeing no one, closed the door behind them. Sensing the need for secrecy, Arwen whispered, “What are we doing?”

Elladan hesitated a moment before speaking. “Have you noticed that things have been… tense between Ada, Nana, and Yáratto this past week?”

Arwen nodded. A week ago, their father had started avoiding their grandfather like the plague. Two days after that, their mother had seemingly gotten involved, and now he was avoiding her too. Elladan and Elrohir had reassured Arwen that their parents would sort things out soon enough, but it appeared they were reconsidering that claim.

“Well,” Elladan continued. “We think that Nana and Ada may need something of a nudge and we have a very important job for you.”

Excitement tingled down Arwen’s spine. An important job just for her!? “We need you to keep Yáratto busy,” said Elrohir. “How fast can you set up one of your tea parties?”

It was all Arwen could do to keep from jumping up and down where she stood. Tea parties were her favorite! “I can be ready in a quarter of an hour!”

The twins shared a look. “You know,” Elladan said after a moment. “I think Yáratto might also like to help you set up.”

Arwen considered his suggestion for a moment. It was not proper to have a guest help the host set up at a real tea party; but then again, one also did not drink air from glass tea cups at a real tea party either. “Very well,” she agreed.

Her brothers seemed relieved. Perhaps her role was more important even then they let on! She resolved not to let them down.

Elrond looked up in annoyance as he heard the door to his study open. Could he not get a moment’s peace? All that week, his sleep was plagued by unpleasant dreams and his waking hours were plagued with worried family members who wanted him to talk. He was exhausted and irritable and his patience ran so thin, he feared it would tear.

His gaze softened slightly when he saw Elrohir enter. Elrohir had probably pestered him the least out of anyone so far, but that could change.

Elrohir sat in the chair across from him, an impassive but not unpleasant look upon his face. “Good day, Ada. Are you doing anything particularly important at the moment?”

For a moment, Elrond considered lying to him, but quickly tossed the idea out. It was hardly Elrohir’s fault that he was in a foul mood. “No,” he sighed. “Just letters.”

An almost mischievous grin broke across Elrohir’s face and he pulled a chessboard and pieces out of a bag that Elrond had not previously noticed. “Wonderful. We’re playing chess.”

As Elrohir began setting up the board, Elrond had to wonder, “Do you just… carry the whole set with you on the off chance that it is useful?”

Elrohir laughed and handed the white pieces to his father. “No, of course not. It may have been popular in Númenor, but it is not well-known in Middle Earth, save perhaps in Gondor. Rare indeed would be my use for it.”

Elrond felt a pang of regret. He had not meant to neglect his children so much that they would be forced to seek him out just to spend time with him. He didn’t know what was wrong with him!

Yes he did, a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind. He knew exactly what was wrong with him, he simply refused to do anything about it.

Elrond blinked his thoughts away and tried to focus on the game before him. They played in silence for a while and he could feel Elrohir’s eyes boring into him. The very air weighed on him expectantly. Was he simply being paranoid, or had even his son decided to pry?

“I am not going to talk about it, if that is what you are waiting for,” Elrond said at last.

“I am waiting for nothing,” Elrohir replied, moving one of his pawns. “I am only beating you at chess.”

“No, you are losing at chess,” Elrond corrected. “Badly, I might add.”

Silence fell again, but it was of a more companionable sort.

After their second game, Elrohir having lost both times, Elrond finally spoke again. “I truly do not understand why they keep trying to convince me to talk when they know I have put the past in the past where it belongs.”

Elrohir simply shrugged. “I confess, I do not know the details of what is going on, but Nana and Yáratto seem concerned. They are likely only trying to help.”

“Well, I do not want their help,” Elrond said sharply. “In fact, I do not wish to speak of it at all. Ever.”

He seemed to have reached the tipping point of the issue and Elrohir tried not to take his father’s frustration to heart. Instead of snapping back that maybe he ought to speak of what was so clearly burdening him, Elrohir kept his voice even and his words soft. “Is that because you have already dealt with whatever happened, as you claim, or is it because you have not.”

Elrond said nothing and only scowled at the board. At last, after a rather sad defense on Elrohir’s part, Elrond declared, “Checkmate.”

With a sly smile, Elrohir tipped over his king and declared, “Alas! My king is slain. It is truly a shame for you, as he was only a puppet of the people. Now the mask is torn and the trollish face of democracy looms in its place!”

A moment passed. And then two. Just as Elrohir began to worry he had only made his father angrier, Elrond began to laugh. This version of chess had been developed by Elladan and Elrohir themselves when they were small boys. Their father had encouraged it, saying it taught them to think of creative battle strategies, but their mother had maintained that it was simple cheating.

They had not played it in years, but Elrohir had thought it worth the risk of looking a fool. Hearing his father’s laughter after a week without it confirmed that it was.

Celebrían turned when she heard a knock on the doorframe behind her. It was Elladan. He didn’t wait for her to answer, just approached and began helping her repot her newly-sprouted herbs. Celebrían had chosen this balcony because it was somewhat secluded and she needed a place to think. 

“Is everything alright?” Elladan asked.

The question caught her off-guard. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Elladan shot her a skeptical look. “Nana, I am neither a child, nor blind. One would have to be both not to see the discord among you.”

Celebrían did not have to ask who “you” referred to. She sighed. “You are right, you are no child. There is some sort of trouble with your adar, mainly between him and your yáratto actually, but I do not know the details of it.”

The whole story spilled out of her almost without her knowledge. She did not mean to burden her son with their family troubles, but if she did not tell someone, she would surely explode! “Maglor asked me to make sure your father was alright after some sort of fight, I think. I did not wish to get involved in the bickering of others, but I spoke with him anyway and he became angry with me! He accused me of- of trying to manipulate him.”

Celebrían frustratedly wiped a tear away. “He apologized profusely later that very day, but things have been… cold between us since then.”

Celebrían sniffed and tried to keep her eyes solely focused on her herbs. She would not cry in front of her son. 

Elladan said nothing and pulled her into a tight hug. They stayed like that for a while. Celebrían could not be more grateful for her son. He was not one for flourishing words, but he was very affectionate, and silent affection seemed to be just the thing she needed.

“Yáratto? Why is Ada mad at you?” Maglor blinked. He had been enjoying a pretend tea party with his adorable granddaughter and speaking of trees and stars. He had told her all about the first sunrise and why the sky was blue. Where had that question come from? Was the friction between them really so obvious?

Evidently it was, he thought as Arwen looked up at him with serious, grey eyes. Maglor set down his tea cup, a fake, glass one that would be easy to replace, and attempted to explain what was happening in a way that wouldn’t scare the poor girl.

“Well, in the past, I did something that hurt your ada. I did not mean for that to happen, but even when you hurt someone on accident, you still ought to apologize. I tried to apologize to him, but it seems that he is still too angry with me to accept it.” He glanced down at her and smiled reassuringly. “His anger has nothing to do with you, little one.”

“I know. It is not me he is mad at. Although…” she considered for a moment, her face scrunching in contemplation so adorable that Maglor was forced to bite back a laugh. “If he is too angry to accept the apology, you should probably look for the firstendary emotion.”

Maglor blinked in confusion. “Which emotion?” Children were often… creative with language before they had truly mastered it. Arwen certainly had a point, he just needed to figure out what it was she meant.

Arwen huffed and elaborated. “Ada told me that anger is a secondary emotion and if you want to make it go away, you have to find the emotion under it, the firstendary emotion, and make that go away. Like when I was really little and fell down all the time, I was not actually mad at the ground. I was scared because I fell down. When I wasn’t afraid of falling, I stopped being mad at the ground. Do you understand?”

“I- I do, actually. Thank you.” How was a tiny, little girl smarter than him? He had heard the saying “wisdom comes from the mouths of the young” many times, but he had forgotten how true it was.

Still, her language was in need of correction. “The word you are looking for is ‘primary’, not ‘firstendary’ by the way. If you are so clever now, I cannot wait to see how wise you shall become in womanhood.” Arwen squirmed in her seat in delight at the praise and they went back to their tea party.

Part of Maglor’s mind remained elsewhere. What was the emotion underlying Elrond’s actions? Was it disgust? Fear? Shame? Any of those he could understand, but he did not know which it was! If only Elrond would talk to him.

Chapter Text

Celebrían froze as she entered her and Elrond’s room. In the past week, Elrond had taken to going to bed early or sleeping in his office in an effort to avoid her, but now he sat on the edge of their bed. Waiting.

Had he gotten the timing wrong tonight, or was this a peace offering? Either way, it didn’t change her purpose. “We must speak,” she said, gently, but leaving no room for argument. 

Elrond nodded slowly, his gaze focused unwaveringly on the frayed blue rug on the floor before him. “I know. The children have tried to involve themselves and intercede; this has gone too far.”

Celebrían made to approach, but pulled back when her husband shrank away from her. “I do not know what has happened between you and your father,” she pleaded, “but please do not let it come between us.”

Elrond sucked in a breath as if she had struck him in the stomach with her words, but still he refused to look at her. As he worked up a response, Celebrían took in his appearance. Exhaustion seemed to weigh on his shoulders. Sadness deepened the lines of his face and, was that a glimmer of fear in his eyes? What could cause such a reaction in him? She did not think she had seen him so in turmoil since the beginning of their marriage, just after the War of the Last Alliance. 

At last, Elrond gathered himself enough to speak. “I do not want anything to be between us, Cel, but I- I do not think I can speak of this. The wound is too deep, and it has festered for far too long.”

Celebrían felt a flash of anger, annoyance really. Had she not been his wife for over a thousand years? Had she not been there for him, supporting him at every turn? Had she not even now earned the tiniest bit of trust!?

Immediately, she pushed that feeling aside, remembering the nightmares and flashbacks that had attacked her husband's mind in the early years of their marriage, long after the Enemy’s assaults had ceased. He had let her comfort him through all of them. She remembered them talking late into the evening of his childhood in Sirion, with the Fëanorians, and in the war camps of Gil-Galad.

He did trust her.

So then what was so terrible that he could not bring himself to mention even to her?

She was drawn from her thoughts as Elrond continued. “I will not speak of it, but I think I can show it to you. Some of it, at least; enough for you to understand the… shape of things.”

He looked up to meet her eyes, resolve only barely masking his anxiety. Celebrían perched beside him on their bed, doing her best to emit a feeling of calm comfort safety despite all the worries flying through her head.

She took a deep breath and extended herself as she had done a million times before, silver-green intertwining with dappled starlight and firelight. Her mind entered into his, a landscape of rolling hills, sharp cliffs, deep chasms, sunlit forests, and unnavigable fens. Despite knowing her way almost as well as she knew the paths of her own mind, she waited at the very entrance until Elrond was ready to guide her to what he wanted to show her.

After only a few minutes’ wait, Elrond, now fully unveiled as a Thing of fire and earth and starlight, took her by the hand and led her to a familiar wood. They had visited this wood many times over the centuries. It was thick and dark and full of brambles, bushes, tangled vines, and tree roots to trip over. 

In the beginning, it had been almost impossible to even get near the forest due to the thick, ever-shifting hedges that guarded it, but together they had carved their way in. They wove paths through the trees, removed the worst of the brambles, tended and cared for the other ones, built trellises and archways for the vines to climb up, and smoothed down the roots. It would never be a safe place to be, but with love and attention it had become manageable.

Elrond pulled her down one such path and they walked in silence for a long while. Celebrían was sad to see that, in only the past five or six days, some of the trellises had cracked and allowed the vines to choke the path once more. The tree roots seemed to move of their own accord and try to trip her, discourage her from going onward. Every part of the forest was screaming at her to get out, but still Elrond pulled her onward.

At last, they came to the end of the path, to an insurmountable wall of brambles. Here, Elrond paused for a moment, hesitating. He had never allowed her past this point, always pulling her away to a nicer part of his mind and saying that some things were better left buried. It seemed, however, that no matter how deeply Elrond had buried something, it would always find some way to come bubbling up again. 

Celebrían gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and Elrond steeled himself. With a wave of his hand, the brambles parted just enough for them to get through, before snapping shut behind them. 

Behind the barrier lay a clearing at the very edge of Elrond’s mind. In the center of it was a blackened stone box, two men high and three men wide; the ground around it cracked and burned to a crisp.

Celebrían could hardly hold in the cry of shock and grief that threatened to escape her. No wonder he had never allowed her back here! Such wounds to the mind would surely kill a normal elf, and yet her husband had borne it for who-knows-how-long without anyone's knowledge.

Elrond gently tugged her forward but Celebrían planted her feet. “Wait a moment.” Elrond waited, but did not turn to look at her. If Celebrían paid close attention, she could feel the ground trembling beneath her feet and hear the trees rustle in the forest behind her. Her husband was beyond anxious. “We do not have to do this if it will hurt you.”

They could leave that place and speak with words about what to do next, now that Celebrían at least understood the magnitude of the problem. She had accepted a long time ago that she would never know everything about her husband (however much that fact stung sometimes).

Elrond paused a moment, really considering her offer, until at last he tugged her forward again. “I want to show you this,” he admitted. “I want you to know.”

It was more than that, Celebrían could tell. He needed this. As much as this was to help her understand, there was some part of Elrond that needed her to know for his own sake. 

The box had no hinge, key, or lid, resembling more a block of stone than anything else. As such, she could not open it up. Instead, Elrond drew her inside and she slipped through much like water leaks through limestone.

She was surprised to find that it was much bigger on the inside and, for lack of a better word, highly compartmentalized. Some of the compartments were more heavily secured than others, but all of them were locked up tightly. At one end of the box was the most heavily secured compartment of all of them… and it was cracked. 

A black sludge oozed out of the crack, dripping onto the floor and staining everything around it. Fingerprints were smeared all over the floor and around the crack itself, like someone had tried to scoop it up and shove it back into the compartment. Thinking back to what her father had taught her about the science of meaning in the mindscape, she recalled that stains were usually an indication of… shame.

Elrond hesitated in front of the box, looking to her. “Ready?”

Celebrían nodded and they squeezed through the sludgy crack together.

All at once, Celebrían was assaulted on every side by screams. Screams of pain, of terror, of grief. She collapsed to the ground, hands clapped tightly over her ears, but of course it did nothing to drown them out. 

Whose screams were they? They sounded like a chorus of mostly children with a few more mature voices scattered here and there. Interspersed with the wordless wailing were overlapping sounds of pleading that she could make neither heads nor tails of. She could not even think over the horrible sounds.

Elrond quickly noticed her plight and wrapped his fëa around her like a cloak, drowning out the worst of the noise while also inadvertently drenching her with his own feelings of fear, grief, and most of all, shame.

When Celebrían had, for the most part, pulled herself together, Elrond began pulling her through the contents of the box. He did so slowly, one by one, keeping most of the memories vague and shrouded in a dim mist.

She felt the pit of long hunger open up in her stomach like it was an old, unwelcome friend. She watched a giant of a Man savagely beating a young boy; a boy she knew instinctively to be Elrond himself. She felt a keen sense of humiliation, of being Lesser than those around you, and realized suddenly that that must be where the overflow of shame in this place stemmed from.

The torrent of memories and feelings slowed to a stop and for a moment Celebrían thought it was over… until she looked at her husband. He was trembling, a white-hot coal in his hand, searing everything it touched. He was holding it back from her.

“Show me,” she pressed, holding out her hand.

Elrond pulled the coal in towards his chest, burning it as well as he did so. “No, this will only hurt you.”

“It will hurt you more,” she argued. “Please, let me help you.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he offered it to her. The heat of it scorched her as she cradled his hands in her own, but only for a moment as she was almost immediately thrown into a memory.

It wasn’t even a true memory, only sensations. Packed earth beneath aching knees, saccharine gentle touches, an iron grip pinning hips in place, blunt invasive force, agonized screams clawing their way out of a throat, a soul trying and failing to pull away from its body. Pain, anguish, confusion, violation, fear.

Impressed upon the edge of her mind was a simple, sickening fact. This happened many, many times. Celebrían couldn’t imagine it. As an elf, her fëa had always been detachable. She knew that that was a thing unique to elves, but she had never really considered the implications of that. The idea that other species would be forced to endure any kind of awful thing with no means of escape. The idea that Elrond would be unable to escape.

How did he survive, she thought to herself. Elrond caught the thought and, with a spark of joy that Celebrían had not expected from him in this place, pulled her up (when had she fallen to her knees?) and led her to a large tent in the center of the compartment. Lit from within, it was the only source of light in that awful place.

As they walked through it, Celebrían caught little glimpses of the past. A young Elros standing between Elrond and an angry Man who was brandishing a frying pan. A young peredhel woman (Daniel, the name was pressed into her mind infused with the love of a dear friend) laughing with Elrond about some ridiculous thing that remained just out of her sight. Elros again, this time wiping away Elrond’s tears with all the care of a mother. Another little boy (Maechui, a comrade, a fellow sufferer) insisting that he had no idea where Elrond was as Elrond watched from under his bed. Elros chasing a pack of tiny peredhel children, all of them shrieking in delight, as Elrond fed one of the infants. An older woman (Yrithiel, with the warmth and structure of a mother) recounting a story of her dear old friend Erestor (Erestor!?) to a group of enraptured children. Elros’ warm arms wrapped around Elrond at night in an attempt to keep him there. High King Gil-Galad holding back the fist of a Man attacking Elrond, looking as furious and terrible as a Vala enwrathed.

I was not alone 

At last, they pulled out of Elrond’s mind and Celebrían fell back into her body. She was cold and nauseous and trembling so badly she almost didn’t notice the tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t imagine that Elrond felt much better.

Sure enough, as she looked over to check on him, his face had turned to stone, though he was not trembling as she was.

Gently, giving him every chance to pull away, she pulled him into an embrace. He returned it almost immediately and they held each other for a long time, taking comfort in the quiet and the warmth.

After a time, when her trembling had ceased, Elrond pulled back and looked her in the eye, his gaze intense and earnest. “Celebrían, I am sorry that I have been so- so cold and distant these last few days.” The apology came spilling out like water from a collapsed dam. “I thought that I had dealt with this long before now, but my father found Gil-Galad’s old journal and found out, and now of course he feels that he’s responsible so he tried to apologize. All those old memories and pains just came bubbling to the surface and- Celebrían, I tried so hard to keep you safe from it, from this, but you were caught in the crossfire and I am so sorry.”

Celebrían laughed wetly as she wiped the tears from her face. Of course her dear, sweet, wonderful husband would try to apologize to her after all of that. “You do not need to apologize, my love-”

“No,” Elrond interrupted. “I do. I may have been dealing with… a lot, but that did not give me the right to lash out at you, of all people, nor to treat you coldly after that without any kind of explanation.” 

While Celebrían maintained in her mind that he had nothing he needed to apologize for, it dawned on her that perhaps Elrond needed to do it for his own sake. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I forgive you, Elrond. I am not angry.”

That was the right thing to say. Elrond’s entire posture relaxed and a sad smile graced his face. She placed a comforting hand on his cheek and, to her delight, he leaned into her touch. She had missed him these past several days.

“This is going to be rough for a time,” she went on to say. Elrond nodded into her hand, a look of shame growing on his face. Oh, how she wished she could wipe every ounce of it away! “But I want you to know that I will always be here for you. Any problem you have - I do not care what kind it is or how ashamed of it you are - I want you to come to me so I can help you. Can you do that?”

Elrond nodded again. “Yes, yes I can do that, Cel.”

As they laid down together to go to sleep, Celebrían heard a quiet thank you out of the dark next to her.

Elrond took a deep breath to calm his nerves before opening the door to the family study. He had sent a message that morning to summon Maglor to meet him there, but now that the time had come, he wasn’t ready. Then again, would he ever be ready?

He pushed the door open and found his father near the window, clearly just pulled from birdwatching. He eyed Elrond with an indecipherable look, almost sad? Resigned? Anxious?

‘I don’t have to do this,’ Elrond thought to himself. It wasn’t too late to back out. He could simply leave the room and continue to act cold for a few days and Maglor would just leave of his own volition! He was always quick with the sackcloth and ashes after making any kind of mistake, and his favorite method of self-inflicted punishment was running away to the sea shore and putting on the facade a vagabond.

No, that was ridiculous. Elrond had spent centuries searching for him and he was about to let all that work go to waste? He would allow their fragile relationship to be broken over an offered apology of all things?

Their strange little family really must be dysfunctional indeed if that was the case.

After a long moment, Elrond gathering his courage and Maglor waiting for him to make the first move, Elrond gestured for him to sit at a small table on one side of the study. It would keep a barrier between them, and the chairs on either side both faced exits allowing for a quick escape if this did not go well. Elrond had overthought the layout, he knew, but he found he could not stomach the thought of a conversation with his father right now without a solid exit strategy. 

Once they were seated, Maglor once again waited for Elrond to make the first move.

“I- I never thanked you for your apology,” Elrond started haltingly. “It brought back some… truly terrible memories, but I should not have taken that out on you. What happened to me there was not any fault of yours.”

Maglor straightened in his chair, a rebuttal already on his lips, but Elrond held up a hand to stop him. “Please, do not try to take the blame for it. This is hard enough without interruptions.”

Maglor closed his mouth and nodded, eyes still swimming with guilt. Once Elrond was certain he would not interrupt again, he went on. “I am accepting your apology; I have long since forgiven you for any involvement you did have, so I do not wish to hear any more self-flagellation from you on the topic. In fact, I do not wish to speak of this at all anymore.”

There. It was said. Hopefully his father would get the message and let the matter drop.

Maglor nodded slowly. “I understand…”

Oh no. Elrond could hear the ‘however’ in his tone as soon as he spoke. “And I do respect that you are unwilling to discuss what happened with me, however, I cannot let this lie knowing you are suffering alone because of it.”

Damn, why did his father have to be so emotionally intelligent sometimes? Most of the time, he was too wrapped up in his own past to pay much attention to the thoughts and feelings of others, but when he did, he was excellent at extracting the exact troubles and motivations from a person based only on a glance or the tone of their voice. And Elrond could never tell when he would do so.

“You do not need to fear that,” Elrond reassured. “I have told Celebrían and she is- she is helping me.”

Maglor’s eyes softened and he reached across the table as if to take Elrond’s hand before thinking better of it. “I am glad. I am glad you have someone to help you with this, even if I cannot.”

Elrond shot him a small smile and offered his own hand across the table.