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The grief came in waves: unbearable sorrow followed by an equally unbearable numbness. It was the aching hollow that filled Elrond currently as he walked towards his bedchambers.
The arrival from Lindon had been as somber as their leave, but this time the quiet had been deafening. Elrond’s children had ridden at the front of the convoy and had split off as soon as they entered the valley. The twins had headed off towards their mother’s garden on the west side of the house. Little Arwen had quickly disappeared inside the halls. Elrond vaguely recalled Glorfindel standing to his side, subtly trying to get his attention, but he didn’t really register it. He just wanted to get away, get away from them and their scrutiny, from all of it. But there was nowhere to go – nowhere that hadn’t been touched in some way by her. Nowhere that could make the pain go away and return him to the peaceful years past. But their bedroom would be empty, Elrond thought, so he went there.
The doors opened with a soft creak and closed just as unobtrusively. And the tense quiet of the outside world turned into something colder that echoed sympathetically in the vacuum in his own heart. Outside the midday sky was bright and cloudless, but the closed curtains only filtered through a ghostly blue imitation of the cheerful sun. The light made the room feel unnaturally still and vacant, as if emphasizing the loss Imladris had just faced. Emphasizing what Elrond had failed to save.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t bring himself to walk to the bed, or open the curtains, or whatever he had thought to do when at last he returned to this room. He could only stare at the dimly lit image before him as the emptiness of his heart melted again into grief.
It hit him suddenly, and a wave of panic quickly began to overtake him. Panic that the overwhelming weight of the uncertain and unwanted future would crush him. Panic that he had to go one living in this world while the love of his life had left it.
“I’m sorry, I tried.” He muttered softly to himself – to her. And he had. He had tried. He had done everything he could, called upon every last ounce of his training and yet –
“I’m sorry, I tried, I promise I tried, I’m so sorry, I trie-” The words sounded insubstantial, even to him, but once he spoke them he couldn’t stop. They tumbled out of his mouth in a loop, scarcely decipherable over the soft sobs that accompanied them. After some point Elrond was barely aware he was even speaking.
He sank to the floor against the doors behind him. The great barriers against the world outside – a world with worried, grieving people, with things that must still be done – a world that expected things of him. Elrond didn’t think he could ever open those doors again.
And he didn’t.
At least not for some time.
A day passed, then two. Then three. At some point thirst and need drove him from where he had melted into the floor to the pitcher of water that still sat half-empty by the bed. But the doors stayed shut, and the curtains stayed closed. People knocked, but they always went away. When he spoke, he spoke in circles, repeated phrases of guilt and regret that were insufficient to describe the aching hole in his chest.
And thus, Elrond thought he could fade away in the room, enveloped in an absurdly comfortable blanket of grief and sorrow that he didn’t think he could shake off even if he wanted to.
-
Someone was knocking again. They spoke this time, as his unwanted visitors sometimes did, but Elrond didn’t listen. He was leaning against the doorframe of the attached closet staring unseeingly at the wilted rose on the nightstand. It had last been replaced the morning of their leave. The flower was the largest bloom of the season from Celebrian’s garden, and Elrond had hoped it would make her smile. It hadn’t. The last time his wife had smiled was when he had told her the arrangements for her departure were settled.
It hurt, that her last smile had been at the thought of leaving them. Him.
But he couldn’t help her. He couldn’t heal the unseen wounds of her heart. She would be better far across the sea, as when it had counted most he had failed. He wished still with all his heart she had stayed but knew that it was selfish of him to do so. He could not trap her here in her pain, unable to free her from her misery.
There was a soft creak and a stream of golden light cut through the muted blue. The door had opened. Why had it opened?
Elrond turned to glare at the entrance. The figure in the door slowly appeared as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, revealing a tired and somewhat discomfited Erestor. In one hand the elf held a key, and in the other balanced a tray that smelled of fruit and sweetbread.
“My Lord,” He began, as his eyes took in Elrond’s disheveled shape. Elrond knew what a sight he must look like, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. To Erestor’s credit, he didn’t outwardly react, just shuffled inside the room and maneuvered the door closed again.
“Its been days, my Lord. You have not eaten. We cannot lose you too.”
Elrond stared at Erestor without hearing. His old friend looked harried and tired and was looking at him like he needed something from him. Fear and despair gripped Elrond’s heart.
“I cannot.” Elrond replied, his voice scratchy . I cannot be who I was again. I cannot be what you need of me. “Celebria-“ Elrond’s voice broke at the name, but he swallowed and continued, “They all leave, and I cannot…I am not…enough.” Not for Celebrian. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. He had never been enough. Not for Elros. Not for Adar. Not for Naneth. Not for Maglor. Not for Maehdros. Not enough for them to stay. He could not be enough now for his people, for his children . He was doomed to fail them, as he had all before them.
He was shaking now, tears flowing in steady streams down his face.
Erestor was at his side, kneeling down to his level. When had he moved? “You don’t have to be, not right now.”
Elrond looked back to his friend in surprise. There was sorrow in Erestor’s eyes, but not pity. “Eat a little, that is all I ask of you.”
And then he left.
The golden light of the hall fluttered briefly through the room as the door opened and shut.
The quiet returned, but the monotone blue was offset by little red fruits and the glittering crust of the sweetbread.
The bread did smell good. Elrond took a bite.
-
It was weeks before he left the room, but slowly the sun no longer seemed too bright. It felt strange to walk through the familiar halls, and at times it was overwhelming (Erestor had found him curled up in a corner or under a table on multiple occasions). But even short walks made him feel stronger as a whole and remind his injured fëa that it still resided in Middle Earth.
Weeks turned into years without much distinction. Erestor occasionally came to him with matters of the house, the Noldo having silently taken up Elrond’s role when it became apparent the latter was not yet ready to return. But he refused to let Elrond drop out completely, and gently pestered him on small, minor things.
At present, Erestor had just left Elrond, pleased with his engagement in resolving a trade dispute on an outlying farm. Even little things were still tiring, and Elrond slumped back in his seat, staring out the large bay windows that framed the sitting nook. It was winter, and the day had just seen fresh snow. He had wandered outside very little, but the glittering crystals blanketing the ground tempted him now. The brightness was alluring. The cold would be grounding. Eventually, his urge to be out amidst the grounds overcame the comfort of his chair and he moved to the outside.
He emerged on the west side of the house, one of the nearer exits to the sitting room. He could see the marble wall that framed Celebrian’s garden from where he now stood, and his heart clenched. Perhaps this was a mistake.
But instead of turning back he moved closer, wandering around the smooth white stone to the garden entrance, framed by beautifully sculpted pillars.
Within, the garden tenants were bare and sleeping with the slumber of winter. It was tolerable, he supposed, to visit the garden now when there were no bright colors to bring back memories.
He walked slowly through the paths. His legs felt odd and unstable, as they had in those first few months. Elrond feared he would lose his strength to continue at any moment. More slowly than he would care to admit, he became aware of figures coming up on either side of him. Familiar and long missed.
Elledan and Elrohir.
Grief was still written on their faces as clearly as it was on Elrond’s. They looked at him with love and sorrow, mirror images of Elrond’s own expression. The twins took up post unbidden on either side of their father and said not a word. Quiet despite not having seen Elrond in years, aside from a few small, silent dinners. There was nothing to say they did not already understand.
The three walked content and undisturbed, and the weakness in Elrond’s limbs abated slightly, his strength emboldened in the presence of his sons. They walked until the sun began its slow decline past its zenith, until the soft patter of footsteps behind them caused the elves to pause and turn. Arwen stood some paces back, looking uncertain in a way that was uncommon for her. Elrond hadn’t seen his daughter often. She did not attend the few dinners Elrond had, and when he asked after her all anyone told him was that she was still grieving and wished to be alone. Elrond understood that deeply, and never tried to find her.
Based on Elladan’s short intake of breath, the twins had not seen much more of her. But now here she was, and a dam seemed to break. The silence, the stillness, comfortable though it was, shattered as Arwen rushed forward into her father’s arms.
Elrond caught her and they clung to each other as if they were never meant to let go. He sank to his knees still holding her, and soon he felt Elrohir’s arms wrap around him as well, breath hitching in both sudden joy and shared pain. Elladan followed his brother, and the four remnants of a broken family huddled together on the cold winter earth, truly warm for the first time in far, far too long.