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Nibbling on the end of his quill as he hadn’t done since his earliest childhood, Elrond watched the droplets of ink pool and spread across the empty parchment before him.
“I’m not trying to add to your distress,” his wife said softly. “Alas, you’re running out of time.”
Even though she was still pale, Celebrían’s face was now tinged with the flush of good health and understated amusement as she laid a soothing hand upon her husband’s bowed shoulder.
“It is time,” she whispered. “Too long you’ve carried the grief and unspoken, unwitnessed regret of others. Let go of the past’s chilling shadows, my love.”
Elrond lifted his eyes to her restored beauty and smiled longingly.
Celebrían, the love of his life, had finally been returned to his trembling embrace. What more proof that this was a land and a time of hope did he need?
“How am I to broach the subject? What if he doesn’t want to see Nelyo? What if he doesn’t want to know me?” he sighed.
Tapping a slender finger against the stack of letters, neatly folded and lovingly preserved, that sat on the edge of his desk, Celebrían shook her head in indulgent impatience.
“Did he ever strike you as faithless?” she asked, hoping to provoke her beloved into putting his pen to the paper. “All you have to do is start. You, who have been the knot that ties the past to the present, must unravel at last, yourself. I applaud you for trying to rekindle a flame long extinguished…”
“It isn’t. At least, that’s my hope,” Elrond interjected, squaring his shoulders resolutely.
He wanted to believe that all that had been lost so long ago could be salvaged; he’d watched over these confidences and confessions with reverent solemnity, in patient faith and anticipation of this moment.
So why did his fingers tremble?
“What am I to say without sounding insolent?” he groaned.
His primness made Celebrían burst into merry laughter.
“Mother assures me that, besides her own brother, Findekáno must certainly be the least formal of her generation. I’d counsel speaking from your heart; you’ve both lost someone you held very dear, and it shows how honourable you are that you’d want him to be aware of all the facts before he meets his lover once more.”
“I shouldn’t even know about these things,” Elrond muttered.
“Well, you do. Most of their crimes and trespasses have faded from visceral resentment into history and distant memory. I dare say that the remembrance of their lives and loves does not shame them,” Celebrían commented carefully, and Elrond wondered how he had survived so long without her wisdom.
“Write your letter; meet the man,” she insisted. “Tell him of the time after his demise. Heal his heart and unburden your own.”
“Will you stay with me?” Elrond asked, unwilling to let her out of his sight as he confronted this painful part of his past.
“Always,” she promised. “Now, begin, please. The runner is waiting.”
Chapter Text
To Findekáno, son of Ñolofinwë,
Please allow me to express my fond greetings to you. I have the honour of being of your kin in a myriad, complicated ways.
Indeed, my father was Eärendil, son of Idril, daughter of Turukáno of Gondolin, your brother.
Nevertheless, it’s not this lineage of guilty blood that fills my ink pot and guides my quill like a river running to the sea.
I thrived, for a cruelly short time, under the protection and guidance of Nelyafinwë Maitimo and Kanafinwë Makalaurë, sons of Fëanáro.
They loved and honoured you greatly, and I often wished to have you near to see the earnest smiles of which I’d only ever glanced the wistful echoes when they spoke of your exploits and good nature.
Your name has never been a part of impersonal legend to Elros and me; on the contrary, your absence was a wound we’ve inherited and carried through the ages.
Thus, I embrace reckless insolence in penning this impertinent missive to you. Would you be willing to meet me?
As you’ve certainly been told, my foster father shall be released from Mandos’s care, and I had hoped we could attend this joyous event together. I’m sure it would please him.
Having lost both my brother and my daughter to their choice of a mortal fate, I’m also desperate to rebuild as much of the family I once had as possible.
Would it be too much of an imposition to beg you to consider being a part of that frayed patchwork of doom and devotion?
Moreover, I’m in possession of intimate letters that have been salvaged from the wreckage of the First Age, and which I’d gladly hand back over to their rightful owner.
Mayhap, you’ll draw comfort and wisdom from their pristine state as much as from their contents.
Forgive me for having read what wasn’t destined for my eyes and heart, but I couldn’t forego that quantum of solace.
Even as I write these lines, I’m woefully aware of how intrusive my behaviour is, but I’ve known you all my life without ever meeting you, and I cannot waive the opportunity to amend such an unhappy omission and impossibility.
By my side sits my wife, Celebrían, daughter to Lady Galadriel, your kinswoman.
She, as well, would welcome the chance to gaze upon your face and embrace you. This, she’s told me just now.
If, as would be your right, you’ve decided to turn your back on those you’ve once known and loved, allow me at the very least to argue on behalf of the yet-absent.
Let me tell you about sour apples and sunny afternoons so you may know the truth I learned.
Even though I have no right to ask this of you, other than by the love that came to me through many crooked rivers of blood and tears to swell my heart like a stormy ocean, I dare beg you to soothe an orphan’s sorrow by expunging this hereditary longing.
Elrond
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Findekáno looked up in alarm at the sharp knock, which announced the discreet servant presenting him with a carefully sealed letter.
Even after weeks of peace and familial intimacy, he still flinched at unexpected sounds and sudden movements, and he felt a twinge of embarrassment.
However, the fact that his friends and family had been visiting and supporting him indefatigably also made him exceedingly curious about the missive that was handed to him with casual grace, for he instinctively knew that it hadn’t come from one of those who’d been restored to the land of the living before him.
Who then would choose such a formal way of reaching him?
Insinuating a bow, he dismissed the servant and turned the thick, soft paper between his trembling fingers for a moment before tearing the envelope open.
His eyes grew fierce and bright with concentration as they swept along the words greedily.
The mere thought that Idril, a girl he’d cradled against his aching chest to protect her from the biting cold, could be the grandmother of this well-spoken hero of another age gave him a pang of regret.
He’d missed so much.
Of course, Elrond Peredhel’s name and achievements were hardly unknown or unsung in Valinor. Still, Findekáno had hitherto not expected to be amongst the people such an illustrious personage would seek out.
“Russo had a child,” he mumbled under his breath, irrational envy chiming in his heart like a broken clock. “He was always so fond of elflings—I can imagine it well.”
Once upon a time, Findekáno had dreamt of sharing the joys of raising and teaching a young soul with his brave, tender paramour, but fate had decided otherwise.
For a moment, he allowed himself to grieve—viscerally and violently—for all the pleasures and blessings that had been denied to them before rereading the mysterious letter.
“What do you know that you want to share?” he asked the mute piece of paper in his hands as if expecting a coherent answer. “Before…”
Many people had inquired whether he’d trek to Námo’s door to welcome Nelyafinwë, his cousin, his King, his love, upon his return.
Until this very moment, Findekáno hadn’t been able to find an answer to that momentous question.
A part of him yearned to ask for counsel and comfort, but he sensed that this was between him and Elrond.
They’d known and loved Nelyafinwë in ways no other could even begin to fathom.
Findekáno rang the bell, which made another attendant appear noiselessly.
“Send up writing implements and retain a runner, please,” he commanded imperiously. “I need to send urgent word to a new friend.”
As he waited, he tried to steady his nerves and recall the neat, legible handwriting he’d once learned at his father’s elbow.
It was vital to make a good impression on one who might, by the Valar’s grace, become akin to a son.
In hopes that Elrond hadn’t ever seen his despicably careless wartime correspondence hand, Findekáno began writing.
Chapter Text
Dear Elrond,
First of all, allow me to welcome you to the Blessed Realm.
It must strike you as a rather strange place after having lived in another world entirely for so long.
The sensation is all too familiar to me, and you have my sincere sympathies when it comes to the disorienting sense of unnerving alienation.
Next, I feel deeply honoured that you’d want to meet me. I would readily claim that I carry little importance in the life you’ve led, but I seem to recall that you hinted at the contrary, so I shan’t contradict you prematurely.
Of course, I’d be delighted to make your acquaintance (and that of your Lady Wife) at your earliest convenience.
I won’t pry, but accept every morsel or memory gladly as you see fit to dole them out.
Too long I have been sundered from those I’ve loved most dearly, and it would gladden me immensely to hear accounts of their exploits.
It pains me to hear that you’re in need of comfort, and—if it’s at all in my power—I shall endeavour to provide such solace to you by answering any question you might have.
You said that you hold letters pertaining to me and my life—these, as well, must give rise to uncertainty and incomprehension, which I would alleviate and dispel as best I can.
Please, do not fret on my account.
Seeing as you tried to justify your desire to meet me, I feel obliged to remind you of the countless trespasses against morals, mores, and manners of which I’m undeniably guilty.
You might have simply stated that you’re interested in making my acquaintance, and I should have accepted readily, for—while you know little about me—I have been informed of your heroic bravery and benevolent wisdom, and I would relish the opportunity to confer with you.
Finally, yes, I have, after long debate with my own self, resolved that I shall meet my Russo as soon as he’s returned to us, and it would be my privilege to wait for that reunion by your side.
He’s ever been my truest friend and most cherished love, and neither doom nor death could alter that, so there’s no need to compel me in this matter.
If, however, you’re willing to share more details about the apples and the afternoons, you’ll find me a rapt audience, harkening, spellbound, to such rare, precious tales of peace and pleasant reminiscences.
Speak to me of smiles and shenanigans, and I shall reciprocate without false coyness.
Ai, I feel I know you already.
All my life consists of torturous waiting these days, and I trust that we can pass the time more agreeably in one another’s company.
In time, you might want to meet others (we were a rather expansive generation), and I’d be happy to make those introductions for you.
In hopes of having you call on me very soon, and in instinctive affection,
Findekáno, son of Ñolofinwë, husband of Nelyafinwë
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“Stop fussing, will you?” Celebrían chided as they walked towards the ostentatiously unadorned, plain door of the small cottage, nestled into the hills of Tírion’s outskirts.
Before Elrond could answer, the very door he’d been examining flew open, and a broad-shouldered, handsome Elf with radiant eyes stepped out.
Acting on instinct alone, Elrond bowed low.
“Uncle Findekáno,” Celebrían greeted with a warm smile. “Mother sends her greetings.”
“Your mother did no such thing,” Findekáno said as he matched her impish grin. “Lest she’s changed considerably, she’d never waste her breath on conveying so insipid a message.”
Eyes aglow with amusement, Celebrían inclined her head. “Indeed,” she confessed. “In truth, she warned me not to let you steal my husband. Elrond, you must know, has more parents, guides, and guardians already. It wouldn’t do to let a step-foster-father swoop in and lay yet another claim upon the poor wretch.”
Lifting a broad, strong hand to his chest in a show of injured pride, Findekáno gasped audibly.
“How has she divined my sordid plot? Have the ages not robbed her of her pesky foresight?”
“I’m afraid not,” Celebrían declared ruefully and nudged her husband gently.
“Good morrow, Sir,” Elrond said stiffly.
He’d read Findekáno’s missive so many times that he knew it by heart, but the charming and confusing contradiction between the slightly outdated language and the undeniably warm lack of formality had, nevertheless, cost him much peace of mind.
“Come in, son,” Findekáno grinned, motioning at the open door. “I have taken the liberty of preparing a small repast.”
Behind his back, Celebrían cocked one eyebrow. Not only had their host been a hero, but he’d also been a prince and a king, so it struck her as unusual that he’d seemingly made all the necessary preparations himself.
As soon as they’d sat down, Elrond noticed the small portrait, sitting on a table beside Findekáno’s preferred armchair.
It showed a fire-haired youth, smiling bashfully at the artist.
“I made this,” Findekáno informed proudly. “My aunt Nerdanel, your grandmother of sorts, has taught me. I never told her for which reason I sought to learn the art of portraiture, but I like to think that she knew.”
Eyes misting over treacherously, Elrond gasped. “I have seen the ghost of this man,” he confessed. “I have caught glimpses of his smile whenever he would speak of you.”
“Did he?” Despite his nonchalant tone, Findekáno had sat up straight, and his eyes were bright with unchecked intensity.
“Yes,” Elrond replied. “He said you were a good swimmer and that you were fond of sweetmeats. Some hues of blue would make him melancholic, and Maglor—we called him that—would only sing certain songs in retribution when they’d had a fight.”
Findekáno’s face grew grave with longing and loss, but he didn’t interrupt.
“He kept all your letters too,” Elrond went on, producing the bundle he’d wrapped in a sheet of fragrant silk. “I never knew…losing you was too painful to talk about, I surmise.”
Chapter Text
“He never read the last one,” Elrond said. “It was I who opened it.”
Findekáno stared at his own loose handwriting and sighed. “It might be for the better,” he then said.
His heart felt like the burned-out coals in the hearth, heavy and spent with a fire that had blazed too bright and too fiercely.
“We must make new dreams and leave the shadows that haunted this final letter behind us,” he said, but his fingers were cold and unusually clumsy as he set aside the precious stack of fading memories. “How did these come into your possession?”
“They were entrusted to me,” Elrond said, his voice giving nothing away.
“And, through all the turmoil of your long life, you held on to them? That’s a heavy burden to carry for one man,” Findekáno said.
He knew not whether it was appropriate or welcome to pity his guest, but he knew that his voice had grown deep and warm in irrepressible empathy.
“Our fate, our story…others have buckled and bent beneath that weight,” he continued carefully.
“It was my honour,” Elrond contradicted firmly, stubborn pride flaring in his hitherto placid, polite face. “They were a comfort to those who’ve lost you…and to those who never stopped hoping to eventually know you.”
“Oh, he must have been so proud of you,” Findekáno cried out passionately as he was overwhelmed with recollections of his own. “Russo and I were the oldest of our respective lines, and you remind me of the younger siblings we once heeded and herded with exasperated love.”
“I believe that he did love me,” Elrond whispered as if to himself.
“I’m sure of it,” Findekáno beamed. “Given the circumstances, this might be hard to believe, but he always had a generous heart, prone to self-sacrificing, boundless love.”
Then, he grimaced. “Unfortunately, my dearest wasn’t blessed with the recklessness to verbalise these earnest feelings of affection accordingly.”
“He loved you endlessly,” Elrond insisted. “And you’re right, that love was translated in wistful, grim silences and sad smiles rather than through passionate diatribes, but it was so loud it became our lullaby and cock’s crowing.”
“I’m sorry,” Findekáno whispered, deeply humbled by the honest vulnerability of the dignified Elven Lord sitting across the table from him. “It saddens me to think that my death ailed those who’d never benefited from my life.”
“We did,” Elrond protested gently. “From quick and painless braids to delicious dessert recipes, Nelyo would share your habits and predilections with us. You were alive in his heart—and in ours.”
He bowed his head slightly. “I’m so glad to finally meet you in the flesh.”
“So am I,” Findekáno agreed eagerly. “As my brother’s descendant and my dearest one’s son, you’re mine, no matter what my cousin says!”
“There,” Celebrían cut in. “You went and secured another paternal figure to fuss and fawn.”
Her mien was disapproving, but her voice was warm and tender.
“Should we go and get that murderous father of yours then?”
Chapter Text
Nelyafinwë didn’t react when the hazy air around him shifted ever so lightly.
“You’re awaited at the gate,” Námo announced ponderously.
“How? Who?” At last, the dimly flickering light of that intrepid soul flared back into bright life.
“I sent word,” the Judge explained, audibly vexed by his charge’s disbelief. “The one who’s been the devoted keeper of your correspondence and tender secrets has been made aware of your imminent release.”
Again, Nelyafinwë could only gape at the tall, robed figure before him in utter incomprehension.
He was beckoned along a path that seemed to materialise out of shadow and darkness beneath his shaky steps.
“Elrond Peredhel, scion of countless lines, crowned king of none, has come to retrieve you.”
“Elrond?” Nelyafinwë echoed, realising that he had a body once more when his chest seized painfully. “What has happened? Oh…please, do not keep this from me!”
“He did not pass through my care,” Námo said soothingly, nudging the hesitant revenant along. “He came of his own accord.”
“To these lands or to your gates?” Nelyafinwë asked, feeling the biting cold against his bare feet now.
“Both.”
If he’d not known better, the doomed hero would have believed that his impassive keeper was amused by his foster son’s imprudent determination.
“Another stands with him,” Námo went on. “This one, I know well, and I’m pleased to see that he’s slowly clawing his way back to his old self. Indeed, quite an extraordinary personage, this Elrond, I must admit. Estë’s most interested in him, as he’s managed to accomplish feats of healing and restoration that have defied even her immense powers.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Nelyafinwë asked, baulking at the sight of a solid portal ahead of them. “Who are you speaking of?”
“You’ll find that many things have changed in your absence,” Námo said almost conversationally. “And many more have not. The one who still sees himself as your son has extended a yearning hand to the one who’s ever been your heart. It’s the love of your past that awaits you outside those doors, Nelyafinwë. Bent, but not broken by your crimes and your demise—wounded but unwavering, they have picked up the fragments of your story, letter by letter, to reshape the words into a more hopeful tale. Will you meet them?”
“Speak your truth clearly,” Nelyafinwë bellowed, cold, aching breath filling his lungs as he drew himself up to his prodigious height.
“The things you left have not been lost. Neither your clumsy confessions of love nor your agonising adieus have been buried in the sands of time. Elrond and Findekáno have heeded an age-old summons you might barely recall. Their quills are sharp and their ink pots replenished to write missives of love and reunion now. Will you answer?”
“Lead the way,” Nelyafinwë pleaded resolutely. “I was never much of a letter writer, but I’ll welcome the chance to improve that skill.”
“Good,” Námo smiled. “There are others who are impatient to hear from you very soon.”