Elrond resisted the temptation to rise to Círdan's bait for he was well used to such remarks from the Shipwright. He had in any event just been consumed by his own thoughts; reflections that were wholly taken up with the elf king who lay deep in slumber on the ground beside him. Elrond had lost all track of time since he and Gil-galad entered the shelter. He looked down at his hands; the hands that had cared for the King and tended his wounds. Moments before he was sedated, Gil-galad had said that no-one had hands more gentle than Elrond's and the recollection of those words, combined with the memory of how it had felt to have Ereinion's warm lips pressed against his palm, brought a faint flush of colour to Elrond's otherwise pale cheeks.
Elrond continued to tend the King. His burns had been dressed and Elrond was, for the time being, satisfied that all that could be done had been done but still he yearned for the moment when the pain Gil-galad had suffered through Sauron's malice became nothing more than a distant memory. Looking down at the King's sleeping figure, Elrond wished Ereinion had not asked the hobbits to tell what they knew of his future. Since these matters had been revealed to him he had been beset by a vague sense of disquiet. Círdan's voice then began to break into his thoughts but several moments passed before he was able to bring himself to pay attention to the words the Shipwright was uttering.
"I cannot help but draw the conclusion that his left arm is somewhat ill-fated", observed the Teleri, looking at the dressings that Elrond had carefully applied to the King. "I remember the time when he fell out of a tree and broke that same arm. He was under my care at the time, and I was fearful that his father would form the view that he had left his only son with an altogether irresponsible guardian".
Elrond looked up. He enjoyed hearing the tales that Círdan often told of Ereinion's eventful childhood.
"Of course, as soon as his arm was mended he was climbing that same tree again", continued the ashen-haired elf, shaking his head as recollections of the exasperation he had experienced as Ereinion's guardian sprang to mind. "He was determined not to let it beat him and eventually he mastered it".
This evocation brought a small smile to Elrond's face. Círdan continued to speak but about what Elrond could not say for the secret little garden in which some of his most cherished memories lay planted had claimed his attention.
Although it was dank and uninviting at the back of the cave, the area near the front was pleasant enough. An assortment of the soft brown and gold leaves that had fallen from nearby trees had been windswept into the cave's entrance and a small child with unruly dark hair was busy gathering armfuls of them in order to make a bed.
"Look, down there!"
Little Elrond suddenly dropped his clutch of leaves and stood tense and alert. He had heard the voice above the rush of the waterfall and remembered that his brother was outside fetching water from the stream. He was immediately fearful for him, for he knew not to whom the voice he had just heard belonged.
"It is an outrage", said a second voice, which Elrond decided he liked. It was male, like the first, and Elrond was listening closely. "The kidnapping of defenceless children is inexcusable, whatever the circumstances. And now they have been left to fend for themselves out here in the wild, exposed to all manner of danger. It is a blessing that we have at least managed to find one of them".
"I will look to the child by the stream", said the first voice.
"And I will seek the other. Perhaps he is in this cave".
Elrond froze with terror. He was fearful, despite his liking of the voice. One of these adults was about to take his brother and the other was now coming to look for him. He glanced around him in panic; the cave held no means by which he could escape and even if he could have run away he would not do so if it meant leaving his brother alone in the clutches of these strangers.
All too quickly a tall figure appeared in the entrance of the cave. Elrond's immediate reaction was to shrink back into the shadows that darkened the cavern's rear but a sudden impulse checked him. The sight of the person who had come to look for him was enough to fill him with awe and make his solemn grey eyes widen; never before had he encountered so noble and magnificent a being. Before the child had a chance to react to the abrupt change in his situation he found himself the immediate focus of this wondrous person's attention.
Elrond swallowed heavily. He was transfixed by the vision that had appeared before him. Slowly, his young, searching eyes took in the tall, dark and very striking appearance of the male who was seeking him. Elrond's keen mind, still in the early stages of its development, rapidly turned over the idea as to why so magnificent a being should think he and his brother important enough to come looking for them.
"Here, little one, do not be afraid. I will not hurt you".
Elrond started. His jaw dropped as he realised that this most radiant of beings was addressing him. What was more, he was beckoning him forward and offering him kindness and refuge. He had dropped to one knee and his arms were outstretched; all Elrond had to do was to...
..... he darted forward and threw himself into those outstretched arms. All his fears melted away as he was gathered up in the strong, protective embrace of his rescuer and his instincts - uncannily precise, despite his tender years - told him that placing himself in the care of this individual was the right thing to do.
"Let us go outside, little one. My friend Círdan is out there and he is looking after your brother. I think it is high time that the two of you had a good home and slept in a proper bed, don't you?"
Elrond, seeing nothing to disagree with in this statement, nodded in reply. The tall elf carried him outside. After satisfying himself that his brother was safe, Elrond was content. His spirits had been lifted considerably in the past few moments for, if the truth be known, he was relieved to find himself under the care and protection of an adult once again.
The waterfall under which Elrond's cave was situated sparkled prettily in the light of the steadily westering sun. The unlooked for adventure which he and his brother had found themselves caught up in had seemed exciting at first but he had to admit that it was now beginning to wear a little thin and the prospect of sleeping in a comfortable bed and having something other than wild berries to eat was extremely enticing. He wondered where these two elves were planning to take him and his brother and then decided there was a great deal more that he wanted to know.
"Who are you?" asked Elrond, addressing his tall rescuer with a mixture of boldness and curiosity. His exquisitely-shaped eyes remained steadily fixed upon the fascinating countenance of the dark-haired elf; never before had he been so mesmerised.
"My name is Ereinion", came the quick reply. He treated Elrond to a radiant smile; a smile that the child was sure had never been witnessed by anyone but him. "And your name is... Elrond, is it not?"
"How did you know that?" asked the incredulous youngster. "No-one can tell me and my brother apart".
"I can", chuckled Ereinion. "I knew that you were Elrond as soon as I first saw you".
Elrond's small face lit up. He was convinced that this Ereinion was no ordinary elf and he felt proud to be the focus of his attention. The wide smile that had set his face ablaze was the first of many which was to be seen over the coming days. If the truth be known, it was the first proper smile he had smiled since... since those other two men had come and taken him and his brother away. He tried to remember how long ago that had happened but found he could not.
"These children appear to have been well cared-for. Their clothes are adequate and they display no signs of neglect or ill-treatment".
It was the ashen-haired elf who spoke. Elrond jerked his head around, looking firstly at the adult who carried Elros and then at his brother. Elros shrugged his shoulders and allowed himself to be placed upon the back of the horse that belonged to the elf named Círdan. Similarly, Elrond soon found himself being effortlessly lifted up onto the back of a powerful white stallion, a beast that in many ways reminded him of the exciting being who had rescued him.
"That is just as well", responded Ereinion grimly. "The sons of Fëanor already have much to answer for. Had they mistreated either of these children they would have incurred the wrath of my displeasure".
"They pay heed to no-one", said Círdan. "Not even the Valar".
Elrond listened solemnly to this exchange. He knew now that the other men had committed an act of wrong when they took him and Elros away. But as he looked at the determined expression which had settled itself upon Ereinion's face he found it easy to forget the events of those frenetic years; it seemed now as if the kidnapping of himself and his brother had taken place long, long ago in a different place and in a different time.
"Let us go home", continued Ereinion, his expression softening as he cast his eyes over the expectant faces of the patient, well-behaved twins. "I believe we have had quite enough of this place". He hoisted himself gracefully into the saddle and, after ensuring that young Elrond was secure, he nudged the stallion forward.
It was dark when the two riders, together with the boys whom they had rescued, arrived at Lindon. It had taken many days of searching to come by them and the relief at having at last located them was very much in evidence upon the faces of High King Gil-galad and his close friend Círdan of the Teleri. Both the children were exhausted. By the time the horses were stabled and the twins taken inside little Elrond had fallen into a deep sleep in the arms of the King. His thumb was in his mouth.
The young Peredhil were about to embark upon a brand new phase of their lives.
"He was right".
"I beg your pardon?"
Círdan looked at Elrond questioningly.
"I was thinking about my first ever meeting with Ereinion", explained Elrond, emerging slowly from his reverie.
"Ah, a voyage into the past. Understandable, Elrond; you can perhaps be forgiven for indulging in a certain sentimentality at a time like this". The Shipwright turned kindly grey eyes upon the elven lord who sat across from him in the shelter. Gil-galad lay between them, still deep in slumber. "What memories have you of that momentous day? I personally remember the occasion very well".
"I was recalling how Ereinion knew my name and how impressed I was at the time. None of the other adults we had encountered up until then could tell my brother and I apart. Even Maglor used to fall into the trap of confusing us from time to time, much to our amusement. It was not until many years later, when I had left my youth behind, that Ereinion admitted that his knowledge had been nothing more than a lucky guess on his part. He was not really sure which twin I was when he came upon me in the cave all those years ago. I remember how we laughed about it when he eventually confessed his secret".
This brought a smile to the face of the Shipwright.
"Our King here is gifted in the art of making an individual feel as though he or she is special or of great importance. It is a gift that has been with him since childhood. You should have seen the way he used his charm as a means of persuading the servants to do his bidding".
"I can well imagine".
Elrond smiled to himself but the smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He swallowed heavily and remembered where he was and what had happened. The whole scenario still carried traces of unreality into the deeper reaches of his strained consciousness. Gil-galad slept on the ground beside him, oblivious to all that had happened since Elrond had sent him to sleep and unaware also of the feelings which raged deep within the heart of his trusted Herald.
The healing shelter was filled with the warmth of a newly-stoked fire as Elrond, after reluctantly letting go of Gil-galad's hand, suddenly rose from the King's side. Círdan's eyes followed him but he remained silent as Elrond slipped quietly through the door of the shelter; he knew the Peredhil well enough to understand that he needed a few moments to himself. Círdan remained at the King's side whilst his friend went outside to take in the cool night air.
As Elrond cast his eyes over the darkened Plateau of Gorgoroth, it appeared as though a blanket of peace and stillness had wrapped itself around Mordor. It now seemed virtually inconceivable that a matter of mere hours previously, the forces of good and evil had still been in the throes of wielding their bows, swords and spears against each other and that killing had taken place on the exact piece of land upon which Elrond stood. The warriors who had been charged with the mission of slaying the remaining orcs and disposing of their carcases had risen to their task admirably and he had learned from Círdan earlier on that the weapons wielded by the servants of the enemy had been cast into the Crack of Doom along with the armour that had belonged to Sauron.
Elrond's keen eyes took in the sight of the massive encampment that had sprung up all around the base of Mount Doom. The vast majority of the warriors who had fought in the battle still remained in Mordor and many of the wounded amongst their number were still receiving treatment for their injuries. Elrond glanced anxiously over his shoulder at the healing shelter which housed the King. Almost immediately his heart began to beat a little faster.
The plaintive, eerie cry of a single nocturnal bird pierced the still, heavy silence of the night. It swept downwards over the encampment and then up again and Elrond, wondering if the bird had once been a servant of the enemy, watched until it had disappeared from sight beyond the darkened shoulders of Orodruin. Its flight of freedom led Elrond to believe that it represented something akin to what had once been the twisted and corrupt dreams of Sauron. A shiver crept down his spine as the bird's cries faded from earshot.
"Elrond, come quickly".
Círdan had emerged from the shelter.
"It is the King. Something is wrong".
This was not the first time that Elrond had received a fright during the course of carrying out treatment on a patient but there was no instance from the past that could compare to the icy clutch of fear that had just taken hold of him. His face was taut, grey and anxious as he ducked swiftly through the door of the healing shelter. Once inside, he lost no time in settling himself next to the King, silently admonishing himself for having left his side in the first place.
Círdan hovered anxiously as Elrond touched his fingertips to Gil-galad's forehead and neck. The King's face was slightly flushed and he appeared to the Shipwright's eyes to have fallen into a mild fever. Wise though he was, Círdan would be the first to admit that he was no healer and he could do little other than act as a reassuring presence in the background whilst Elrond went about the task of caring for the King. It soon brought him comfort to note that Elrond's initial concerns appeared to be receding and, as a little more time passed and it became apparent that no real crisis existed, he asked Elrond what had been responsible for the sudden deterioration in Gil-galad's condition.
"He is fighting the infection", answered Elrond simply. He knelt by Gil-galad's side and stroked stray tendrils of damp hair off his face. "I did not expect him to reach this stage so early. He is possessed of a stronger constitution than most and this has enabled him to progress to a state of recovery that is more advanced than would normally be the case".
Círdan hissed with relief.
"He has some strength in him", commented the Teleri, relieved that Elrond had not been required to deal with a real emergency. "I hope I did not subject you to unnecessary worry, especially when you have already been forced to endure so much".
"You did right to call me", said Elrond, grateful beyond words not only for the King's excellent response to his treatment but also for the unfaltering presence of his friend Círdan. "I blame myself. I should not have gone outside".
"But you no doubt did so for the best of reasons and have no cause to chastise yourself", said Círdan firmly. "Your own feelings were perhaps getting a little too much for you?"
Elrond did not answer. A reply was not necessary; Círdan knew him too well. He focussed his attention upon Gil-galad, whose feverish state appeared to have abated almost as rapidly as it had arrived. The King was now sleeping as peacefully as ever.
"Elrond, why do you not take some rest?" suggested Círdan. "It has been many days and nights since you slept. You are exhausted".
"We are all weary", responded Elrond, and that was no lie. Like most of the other elves who had fought in this battle, he had subsisted on fragments of lembas and occasional sips of miruvor for some time now. Blessed with a strength and endurance that exceeded that of men, the elves had been capable of surviving with the minimum of sustenance but many of them were now battle-weary and in need of rejuvenation.
"I see no reason why you should not rest", said Círdan, and this time his tone was more insistent. "Why not lay yourself down by his side?" He gestured towards Gil-galad. "If he awakes or stirs you will be close by and able to care for him. I will see what supplies of food are available and will then stand guard outside so that the two of you remain undisturbed".
Elrond was about to protest but Círdan silenced him.
"Rest", he commanded, raising his hand to signify that the discussion was at an end and there was to be no further argument.
Elrond knew better than to argue with the Shipwright once he had made up his mind. He watched fondly as the elder elf withdrew from the shelter, unable to imagine a world that did not contain the remarkable character that went by the name of Círdan the Shipwright. The Teleri had been a friend of his father centuries previously and had been one of the first of Eärendil's acquaintances to learn of the birth of his twin sons Elrond and Elros. It had been from Círdan, long after their father had departed from the shores of Middle-earth, that the two brothers learned that, of the two of them, Elros had been the first to emerge into the world.
Neither Elrond nor Elros had recognised Círdan when he and Gil-galad rescued them from the cave all those years ago, for they had been too young to remember him prior to their kidnapping. It had not taken long for them to develop a deep affection for the Shipwright, however, and some of Elrond's fondest childhood memories were of walking on the shores of the Isle of Balar whilst listening to some of the charismatic Teleri's extraordinary tales.
"Our father doesn't care about us. He ran away and left us".
Elrond's expression was vaguely sullen as he gazed into the dramatic orange glow that had spread itself languorously across the western horizon. The sun was just about to disappear and its lingering rays stretched like long, golden fingers across the sea, reaching forwards almost to the point where Elros, Elrond and Círdan were standing. It was a beautiful, clear evening and the final moments of the setting sun's light would soon be giving way to the first sprinkling of stars that were to grace the night sky. Small, white-crested waves tumbled onto the golden shore as the last of the day's sea birds spread their wide, snowy wings, took flight and headed towards their night-time roost.
"That is not true, young Elrond, not true at all. Your father cared about you and your brother greatly. Circumstances were such at the time, however, that he had no alternative but to follow the path that had been laid before him".
Elrond turned around and looked into the kindly eyes of the tall Teleri. He felt vaguely ashamed for having spoken so harshly about his father, especially in front of this man who, in many ways, had begun to fulfil that role himself.
"There is much about your father that you both have yet to learn", continued Círdan patiently. "And that will come in time, I assure you. But for now I want you to understand that he cares about you more deeply than you can ever know".
Círdan dropped to one knee and looked earnestly at the two young brothers.
"Your father would be heartbroken if he thought that either of you believed he had deserted you for no good reason. If you could have seen his happiness on the day that you were born... never have I seen such joy on a man's face. But then certain things happened, events over which he had little control, and he was ultimately left with but one choice. You will understand one day, sons of Eärendil, that I promise you".
He took both the youngsters by the hand.
"Come here, I want to show you something".
Círdan guided the attention of the children towards the western horizon. A particularly bright star had emerged from within the darkening sky, a star to which the attention of the young half-elves was immediately drawn.
"See that star there, the one that burns more brightly than its companions? That is your father's star. It shines so brightly because of the jewel he carries on his brow. There is nothing to compare with it, either here in Middle-earth or in the West, or up in the skies above".
Elrond looked every bit as perplexed as his brother. Sometimes it seemed as though the more he heard the less he understood.
"Your father sails in a great white ship", continued Círdan. "I remember it well. Vingilot is its name, and I was privileged to help him build it".
"Ships don't go up in the sky", scoffed Elros, a trifle more contemptuously than he had intended.
"This one does", responded Círdan. "And do you know why, either of you?"
The twins both shook their heads.
"Because it has been hallowed by the Valar".
The children looked at the Teleri quizzically, their eager young minds trying to make sense of the elder elf's strange explanations.
"And the important thing to remember is that your father is looking out for you all the time", continued Círdan. "He cares about the two of you more than words can say. He watches over you whenever his star passes over and he knows everything you do. You are very dear to him, always remember that".
Elrond smiled as he recalled that occasion. Like most adults of the elven race, he was possessed of an outstanding memory that enabled him to bring to mind the smallest detail from events that had taken place centuries earlier. More than three thousand of Arda's years had elapsed since Círdan first spoke to Elrond and Elros of the love of their father and, as he summoned up the memories of that evening, Elrond could still recall the distant warmth of the setting sun's rays and the salty scent of the ocean-fresh air.
Elrond sat at Gil-galad's side and hugged his knees. His gaze, as ever, was drawn towards the face of the sleeping King, a vision that mesmerised him just as much now as it had all those centuries ago when they first met. As he wearily closed his eyes and opened them again he knew that sleep was out of the question, regardless of what Círdan had ordered. His senses were strained and alert and he was laden with too many anxieties to be able to fall into even the lightest of slumbers. His only concern was to ensure that Gil-galad remained at rest until such time as the healing remedies had taken their course and to be there to tend him in the event of his recovery taking an unforeseen turn.
Elrond stood up and unfastened the mithril armour that covered the lower half of his body. He then slipped the chainmail off and laid it aside. It was warm in the shelter and the fire flickered cosily. Although elves did not suffer from the effects of the cold in the same way as men, they were not averse to lighting fires for the purpose of dispelling gloom and creating a more cheerful and welcoming ambience. Ereinion seemed to be at peace as he slept. As he had done on occasions past that were far too numerous to recount, Elrond, settling himself close to the King, marvelled at his dark, masculine beauty.
Elrond had had to cut Ereinion's tunic away from him in order to expose his skin and tend to his burns. His left arm (save for the dressings), shoulder and the upper part of his chest were bare. Sauron's fire had mercifully not extended as far as Ereinion's hand and for this Elrond was relieved beyond measure.
He had always loved Ereinion's hands. They were strong, supple and long-fingered and slightly roughened from many years of wielding sword and spear. Elrond moved a little closer to Ereinion; he was filled with a desire to be close to him and to protect him whilst he lay there vulnerable and unconscious, even though he knew that the danger that had previously existed was no longer present. The shelter was under guard not only by Círdan but also by other trusted warriors from the King's special company.
Elrond, laying by the King's side and still not able to think of sleep, propped himself up on one elbow and pondered the words that had just fallen from the lips of his Teleri friend.
Círdan had been right - as he invariably was - when he suggested earlier that Elrond had temporarily left the shelter because his own feelings were becoming too great a burden for him to bear. Throughout the long years of their acquaintanceship Elrond had harboured feelings for Ereinion, feelings that he had kept locked in a tightly secured chamber, the key to which he had intentionally hidden. But circumstances were different now; Ereinion was supposed to have died in the battle against Sauron and had he done so Elrond's feelings for him would have been destined to remain unspoken, perhaps forever.
Elrond took Ereinion's hand in his and held it against his face. His emotions were welling up inside him; for so long he had kept them under tight control but they were now threatening to burst forth from the carefully-built dam that fenced them in. And it had to be said that Elrond was not someone who gave way to frequent displays of sentiment; he was, for the most part, the absolute epitome of composure and self-control.
Except for now.
It was the beating of Ereinion's heart that caused Elrond to finally admit defeat in the private battle he was fighting with his own inner feelings. It is said by the wise that elven-folk often decide very early on in their lives with whom they wish to bond and spend their lives. In this regard Elrond was no exception, despite his mixed blood. But not all elves are immediately able to take the steps that would normally follow on from the making of their choice and there could be a variety of reasons for this. Falling in love with a member of the same sex, for example, was not always an event that could be easily countenanced especially if there were reasons why one of the parties was expected to marry and produce heirs.
But those things no longer mattered to Elrond. As he laid his gentle hand upon Ereinion's warm chest and felt the flutter of a living heart within a living body, he knew that the time had come for him to cast aside the doubts and fears that had for so long plagued him. He rubbed Ereinion's hand against his face.
"I love you, Ereinion. I love you".
The balance of Elrond's world shifted as that phrase fell from his lips. His inner voice told him that the uttering of those few simple words signified that nothing would ever be the same again.
He smothered Ereinion's hand with kisses; yearning to offer him the love that had remained imprisoned within the confines of his heart for so long. Pressing his lips against each of Ereinion's long fingers, he was filled with a joy that was greater than anything he had ever known. It was an experience he wanted to repeat over and over again.
Elrond continued to kiss his beloved King's hand, closing his eyes tightly as he did so. He savoured the precious warmth and taste of Ereinion's skin against his lips, the intensity of his joy increasing with every passing moment.
And when he opened his eyes, he discovered that the King had also opened his.
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