Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Barad-en-Elei (Fortress of Dreams)	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2320 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings and no profit of any kind is earned by this story. Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.

Chapter List
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~ Part Three: Círdan ~

Elladan was not accustomed to waiting and did not bear it with good humour. Many elves had arrived after him yet gone in ahead, while many more had arrived earlier and still waited without, peering at him and Enerdhil as they took seats. Some were obviously noble and high-born, others but simple folk clad in the humble garb of sailors, their long locks bound tightly about their heads like coils of rope. Of those granted immediate entry to the Lord's office, there seemed an even mix of all stations, races, ranks, and livelihoods, so that Elladan could not complain that he was being shunned in favour of local nobles or Telerin elves. He did so very much want to have reason to complain and demand audience with Círdan, and thus deprived was far more irritated by his enforced patience. He could do nothing but observe the people coming and going, sighing in ill-disguised disgust every time someone else was admitted to the inner sanctum, shooting openly reproving glances at the elf monitoring the traffic through the great Lord's lobby.

One and all entered through the immense doorway of the palace, for he could call it nothing less, the shape of the portal unlike anything Elladan had observed elsewhere, being a circular arch that looked to be cast of pure gold, beautifully engraved with creatures of the sea and praises for Ulmo. One and all approached the ornate and massive desk of teak situated upon a raised dais before the only window in the antechamber. It was likewise grandly formed with six turned legs about which a relief of dolphins swam, spiralling up from bottom to top in single file, noses to tails, until the heads of the first in line formed the support for the expansive surface of the table. Behind it sat the scribe, a rigidly unapproachable elf surely almost as ancient as the great lord himself, to whom the visitors quietly spoke their names.

Once his attention could be aroused, the secretary presented a grim, expressionless face with eyes so dark they looked like black obsidian, the pupils lost in the irises. This raised in Elladan the peculiar notion that the elf was blind, yet the scribe's gaze flickered in open evaluation over every guest and scrutinised the young Lord of Imladris with evident recognition.

This door-warden, for he could be nothing else no matter that his weapons were his quill and daunting demeanour rather than a sword and shield, never gave any indication of being impressed by this or that title, this or that grave situation, this or that over-weening cordiality, and failed to offer any words of welcome whatsoever. He duly noted each person's arrival, recording the name and time in a huge ledger open before him. A flick of his hand would shoo any hesitantly hopeful lingerers hovering about his domain toward the seats. Elladan and Enerdhil had been such, the Imladrians believing they were expected and would be accorded immediate access to Lindon's aged ruler. Such was not the case, though they were certainly expected.
One and all the elves sat along the simply constructed maplewood benches that faced one another along opposite walls, taking places either beside or across from Elladan and Enerdhil. The latter politely greeted new-comers, inquiring of their names and purposes in coming to see the Lord of Mithlond, and chatted amiably with old friends but did not introduce Elladan. Among those the advisor did not know, the more esteemed folk glanced with haughty disdain at Enerdhil's attempts at pleasant conversation, ignoring Elladan completely, some answering curtly and others never deigning to reply at all. The lower ranks of the Faladhrim were eager to speak and shared much, asking their questions in turn, eyeing the Lord from Imladris with curiosity and perhaps amusement; Elladan was confused as to why. They appeared to share little jokes at his expense, merry eyes taking him in followed by hushed words spoken in a dialect of Sindarin Elladan had never heard before and which Enerdhil was equally unable to translate.

From time to time the door to the office would open, an elf or contingent of elves would emerge, and the inscrutable scribe would announce the name of the next person fortunate enough to be permitted to meet with Círdan. On leaving, these elves passed Elladan again and those who had arrived later than he gazed with eyes both speculative and faintly mocking. ~or piteous.~ That thought made Elladan's blood surge with anger and he had to stand and pace once more to the ornate entrance, there to peer through it to the vista of wet, brown sand and tidal pools stretching out from the skirts of the promontory of the palace to the far horizon.

The sight soothed him. It was dannen (low-tide) and shore birds skimmed along inches above the gullies or darted over the exposed, rippled sea bottom, picking at stranded echinoderms, crustaceans, and gastropods. In the distance reclined a raised and golden bar; beyond it the ocean curled atop itself in soft white ridges of froth and Anor flashed on the fins of tess-vi-dol romping in the surf. He caught the bulging curve of a single sail and could almost hear peals of laughter wafting from the tiny craft as it leaped across the crested waves.

"Hîr Elladan of Imladris," the icy voice of the bloodless secretary stated.

Elladan turned to find that unsettling gaze upon him and gave a brief nod, motioning for Enerdhil to attend him as he moved toward the office.

"Hîr Elladan of Imladris and only Hîr Elladan of Imladris," the scribe intoned with arrogant censure and several of the sailors snickered and gaped in grinning glee at Enerdhil, as though he was in on the joke.

Elladan scowled and stormed through the door, sending it to shut with a crashing bang that shook the glass in the windows. Even he winced at the noise and regretted his temper at once, for there was Hîr Círdan halted in the middle of the room, obviously having been on his way to greet his old ward's son as family. Now a deep, disapproving furrow marred his high brow and his long silver beard worked as though he might be grinding his teeth in frustration.

"Suilad, Elrondion, come in and do be sure to close the door behind you," he said, the words squeezed with effort past his clenched jaws. He turned away and stalked back to the desk from which he had risen, taking his seat without another glance at Elladan.

He hadn't changed a bit since the last time Elladan had stood before him in this very room. Despite his great age and reputed wisdom, Círdan looked just as formidable and contentious as he remembered. On first sight, the silver beard, lengthy as any sported by the Anfangrim, was bizarre and looked out of place on his comely face, lined though it was and crowned with straight, pewter tresses that must once have been golden. In fact, the creases only enhanced the unsettling impression of human frailty juxtaposed on elven vitality. The impression was false for there was no denying that vigour; it was evident in his unbent frame and confident step and one glance into the clear emerald eyes instantly affirmed the agility of the mind behind them. Just seconds in his presence erased any sense of discomfort over his appearance and it became immured with his status as an elf in Andrann Nail (the Third Cycle of Being).

Círdan grimaced as he peered again at Elladan, torn as to how to progress, a situation he disliked and to which he was unaccustomed. He was used to being in control, of knowing exactly what the best course of action was and ordering events to make it so. He could not deny the redolent scent of fate wafting through the scene, but this did not make his part in it any more pleasant or remove his uncertainty as to the proper stand to adopt. From a stack of papers and documents he lifted a short scroll with a broken seal, easily recognisable as Elrond's crest, and perused the letter while he waited for his visitor to make the last few steps to the chair placed for supplicants' use.

"Erestor called away to some obscure, unnamed emergency in Greenwood?" he queried rhetorically. "Ah well, I am grateful for your presence. It would not do to have Imladris absent from the discussions."

"Truly, Hîren, I am honoured to be named his substitute," said Elladan, eyeing the document in Círdan's long-fingered hand with trepidation. He had no desire to discuss what was written there. He raised his gaze to the ancient Lord's and found Círdan regarding him with those keen green eyes, comprehension clear within them. Elladan felt his face grow hot but he refused to look away. ~Let him think what he likes, but I'll give him nothing.~

"You are at a disadvantage due to your lack of familiarity with the problems specific to this realm, but Enerdhil has been Erestor's aid for many centuries and has attended each of these conferences with him. Permit that worthy ellon to guide you and your input will be worthwhile and a credit to your sire."

"Aye, Hîren, he has been instructing me during the journey."

"That is well, but his words are not enough to make you understand. I expect you to conduct your own study of the problems. You will need to go among the people of the various sectors: Harlond, Forlond, Emmyn Baraid, and Mithlond itself. Speak with the people, listen to their words."

"As you wish, Hîren."

"There are but three days before the council convenes, Elladan, so I expect you will be quite busy. I hope you are not disappointed that this is a working visit.There will be little opportunity for socialising or exploring the coast."

"I came prepared to do whatever is required of me to successfully represent Imladris at this conference," Elladan said, "assuming my leisure-time to be my own to direct. If you have other duties you would assign to me, then of course I am at your disposal."

"You will learn," smiled Círdan, "that 'leisure-time' is a non-existent commodity during such a council as this. Any time not spent in the actual talks will inevitably be used to renew and strengthen ties with the other delegates or to meet with the people of Lindon most affected by the results of the council."

"I see."

"I doubt it," Círdan set the paper down and sat back, his eyes narrowing as his hands combed through the long, mist-coloured whiskers flowing from his chin. "Let me say what I must, for pretence is not to my liking," he suddenly said and noted that his firm tone made Elladan straighten in the chair, a barely suppressed desire to squirm if ever he saw one. "I do not want you here." The young elf's eyes went wide and his lips parted but Círdan forestalled the demand for explanation with a single raised finger. "Not for the reasons you might think. I understand why you were sent and I sympathise, truly, but this council is not inconsequential. For Imladris to send an untried diplomat who is at heart a warrior gives the impression that Elrond does not consider the problems here worthy of his interest."

"I assure you that is not the case," insisted Elladan. "Whatever personal concerns that letter reveals, Adaren would not send me if he did not believe me competent to represent him."

"This letter?" Círdan lifted the unfurled scroll. "This is not from your father, Elladan. Elrond's remarks were of course solely confined to the political considerations of sending a different participant, and his personal thanks and indebtedness to me for permitting you to be that delegate." He rummaged for a second paper as he spoke and held it aloft. "He speaks well of you and his confidence is not misplaced; I have no argument with this. The other missive tells of other news and I extend to you my happiness for the recent betrothal of Elrohir to Hiril Echuil'laer."

The two stared at one another in tense concentration as seconds dragged by, Elladan stricken with both anger and humiliation, finding Círdan's eyes bright with what he interpreted as an almost sadistic glee to have touched so sore a nerve. He raced through a quick list of who would have been bold enough to send a second letter after his father's and knew only one person who would act with such temerity. Elladan wasn't sure if could forgive his naneth for exposing his conflict with Elrohir to this arrogant, overbearing, disdainful Lord of the Teleri, unable to fathom what could possibly move her to do such a thing. How could she not know what a terrible disadvantage in which this would place him?

"What this writer, a friend to you let me stress that, understands is that this place is not necessarily the best one in which to work through the type of quandary you face now. Mithlond is indeed a haven for many, but for some it is a hellacious torment." That his words shocked Elladan was evident and he smiled grimly. "Strange as it might seem to you, I would spare you such an ordeal, as would your un-named ally. This letter is a request to protect you in as much as your presence here could not be prevented despite the writer's efforts to do so. There is only so much I can do, especially since you are by nature rebellious and any restrictions I might attempt to place upon your liberty would be stridently disregarded."

"I beg your pardon!" Elladan rose to his feet, disbelieving indignation painted over his distraught features. This was beyond humiliating now; his mother had pleaded with this peniaur ingem (decrepit ancient one) to coddle and safe-guard him. "Do you mean to say you would attempt to forcibly hold me captive?"

"If I said yes, would that induce you to leave here at once?"

"No!" Elladan stared at him in confusion and dismay. What was the old ellon implying? "I have given my word to Adar to carry out this task to the best of my ability and ensure Imladris is properly represented. That I mean to do, but I will not submit to any form of limitations placed upon my freedom."

"So you confirm my evaluation of your temperament," sighed Círdan, rising also. "You are too much like your grand-sire. I will say this to you: as long as I deem you fit to participate and determine your welfare is not in jeopardy, so long will I permit you to remain in Mithlond. Yet if I decree it, you will be sent form here, under guard if necessary, rather than have a a fate befall you from which few could recover."

"I do not understand. Are you referring to sea-longing? If so, it has never plagued any in my lineage," Elladan answered, struck by the genuine note of concern underscoring the Lord's unexpected words. He was no less chagrined to have attributed this discussion to less than kindly intentions on Círdan's part.

"Nay, it is not sea-longing that threatens you, Elladan, but your own defiant, impulsive, inquisitive nature. That and your uncanny resemblance to…"

A brief knock sounded on the door and it opened, interrupting the Telerin Lord's explanation and admitting a tall, majestic person dressed in rich silken robes of ocean blue, the cloth weighty and dripping with an opulent abundance of iridescent pearls and twinkling gems.

He was so tall he towered over both elves by nearly a head and gazed down upon them with clever, crafty eyes of pale aquamarine. Long, white hair fell about his shoulders, unbound and free, kept from flying in his face by the imposition of a most unusual coronet of pearls and echinoderm spines upon his brow. His features announced patrician blood of refined lineage and his mouth presented a rather condescending, indulgent smile as his sight travelled over Elladan with a degree of evaluation that was discomforting. His feet were not visible beneath the pooled hem of the fabulous garment and his hands were tucked into the broad belled cuffs of either sleeve. Neither human nor elf-kind, he made no effort to minimise the effect his ethereal presence had on the occupants of the room.

Nowë Círdan bowed low, his beard held tight against his chest to prevent it from brushing the floor and the son of Elrond stood gaping in flabbergasted wonder.

"Greetings, mellon iaur," said Ossë, Lord of the Open Seas, second only to Ulmo in mastery of the liquid regions of Arda. "Forgive my interruption, Nowë, but we must speak together." His penetrating eyes scanned Elladan's face with interest and something like satisfaction.

"Mae govannen, Hîren," answered Círdan, straightening and moving closer to Elladan, placing a fatherly hand upon his shoulder. "I am at your disposal. This is Elladan son of Elrond son of Eärendil." He turned uneasily to Elladan. "May I present Lord Ossë, Maia and Guardian of the waters of Arda."

Elladan recovered his wits and made a respectable bow to the famous Maia. Many were the stories surrounding the doings of Ossë and his part in the history of the elves, not all of it good, and his instincts began screaming warnings. Nevertheless, he could not prevent his mouth from forming the thoughts of his heart into words. "Suilad, Hîr Ossë, master of storms, raiser of islands, and destroyer of ships."

"Forgive my guest's unguarded tongue, Hîren." A short, sharp breath preceded Círdan's words and his grip on Elladan's shoulder tightened to vice-like proportions as he spoke. Subtly, he shifted to partially shield the younger elf with his body, shooting the Imladrian Lord a warning glare. "Elladan is a new delegate to our conference on emigration and has not yet learned all the protocols required or the proper etiquette of the Falas." Elladan opened his mouth, whether to protest or apologise Círdan neither knew nor cared, digging his nails into the muscle beneath his hand to prevent it.

As for Ossë, he threw back his head and laughed aloud, hands unfolding from the cover of the sleeves like hermit crabs emerging from their shells, reaching for the impetuous elven lord with his webbed fingers.

"Oh, I like this one, Nowë, very much." He settled his scaly palm on Elladan's other shoulder, letting the weight of it be fully felt, a weight and density unlike anything revealed by ordinary flesh and bone. He watched as that realisation spread through Elladan's eyes. "You are bold and that is something I regard with high favour," he remarked, tone light and laced with menace, "but have a care. There is but a feeble boundary between brash honesty and crude insult."

"Aye Hîren, I will make every effort not to cross that boundary," murmured Elladan, finding his pulse racing. In his childhood, he had been horror stricken to learn of the numbers of people Ossë had caused to die by suffocation in the drowning seas. The Maia's excuse that his actions upheld the will of the Valar had never been acceptable to Elladan, who objected to the concept of following orders that were so obviously immoral. It was a brand of cowardice he particularly despised in that the perpetrator of the commanded atrocity refused any responsibility for his or her actions in carrying it out. In the being's actual presence, however, these objections were submerged beneath the inundating potency of Ossë's power.

"Well said," smirked the benthic Istar. "Your youth and inexperience excuse your fiery words, Lord Elladan of Imladris, and your compassionate spirit commends you to the task at hand. In time, perhaps you will come to appreciate the burden obedience places upon me," he smiled, removing his hand as he felt a shudder of revulsion moving through the elf's skin beneath it.

"Elladan, please excuse us. There is much I must discuss with Hîr Ossë. I have arranged for one of my aids to accompany you through the realm so that you may begin to learn of Lindon and her purpose," Círdan said, frowning at the Maia severely. He walked Elladan to the door and practically shoved him through the opening, a wordless glance to the scribe inciting that person to rise and announce the closing of the audience until one hour past Anor's zenith.

"What else have you kept from me?" demanded Elladan, livid in his wrath and itching to snatch up Enerdhil by the neck and wring the ellon senseless. "That was Ossë for Valar's sake!"

"I haven't held anything back," insisted Enerdhil, not in the least cowed by the outburst. "You've refused to read the reports I furnished and that is in no wise my fault. Had you done so, this experience would have been expected. Ossë lives in the sea, after all, and has always held the Faladhrim dear. He has long been a friend to Hîr Círdan."

Elladan could say little to that, for it was true he'd eschewed perusing the detailed document Enerdhil had handed him before leaving Imladris. That was the entire purpose of having Enerdhil along, in his opinion. Why should he duplicate the effort Erestor's second in command had already made? "What I expect is to be kept informed and in this you have failed," he snapped, preparing to launch into a fitting tirade that would surely blast the smug ellon's insolence and return him to comprehension of his rightful place in this undertaking. Even as he drew breath to begin, Enerdhil stopped him cold.

"You are mistaken," he hissed, taking a step closer and dropping his voice. "My purpose here is not to act as your nursemaid, Elladan. I am aide to Erestor, an advisor of high rank in my own right, and neither your servant nor a foot-soldier under your command. On Hîr Elrond's request I have come along to assist you, nothing more nor less, for it should be me standing in Erestor's place. Yet though I have centuries of experience dealing with the Faladhrim, you would disregard it, and me, with a wave of your hand." Enerdhil stood tall and glared at Elladan coldly, arms crossed over his chest. "Even so, for Erestor's sake and your father's I would do my best for you. The situation you find yourself in is not what it appears, yet some things I am not at liberty to divulge, at least not yet. I can guide you without betraying that confidence entrusted to me, but you will have to be willing to listen and do as I suggest."

In silence they gauged one another across the space of the sitting room of the advisor's suite, the same apartment Erestor and Enerdhil always occupied when in Mithlond. It was not overly ornate or posh but furnished with good taste and an eye for comfort. The style was not so very different from the chambers the seneschal kept in the Last Homely House, which served as both his offices and domicile, and Enerdhil fit right in, virtually as permanent a fixture here as he was in Imladris. It was Elladan who did not belong and if he was the last one to realise it, much less admit it, then at least he was now open to doing so. His anger drained away and he exhaled a beleaguered sigh, posture slumping a bit as he looked away.

"Aye, you are right," he said. "I have been obnoxious lately and I apologise." He chanced a glance at the worthy secretary and found the ellon's face still set in grim dissatisfaction. Like Erestor, like Elrond, Enerdhil had been a valiant warrior before turning to state-craft and politics. He was neither retiring nor ignorant of the tactics required when dealing with situations far more volatile than this. Elladan found he was ashamed to have treated the elder ellon little better than he would an backwards Wood Elf or a lowly stable hand.

"Enerdhil, I cannot possibly learn all that you know of Lindon in three days time. You have served with Lord Erestor for more centuries than I have been alive and I am a fool to have discounted your superior knowledge and experience. You have no reason to grant me a second chance but I beg it anyway, for the sake of the council if not for me personally." He made a quick bow, hand over his heart, and waited to learn the outcome of this attempt at reparation.

Enerdhil shook his head and sighed a shallow, disgruntled complaint. "I have no wish for this, your first diplomatic mission, to fail. I will certainly grant you whatever help I can, Elladan, but cannot stress enough the mistake made in sending you here in the first place. Nay!" he raised his palm to halt the indignant rebuke about to burst from the young lord's lips. "Whatever your family and friends may do, I am not going to pretend that all is well with you. It is time to face the truth, however unpleasant it may be to hear. You are grieving over Elrohir."

"What? Nay, I am not. He is not dead, Enerdhil, merely engaged to be wed," scoffed Elladan, but his bravado was false and both knew it. All colour faded from his face as he stared with open eyes at the silent scribe, in whose expression neither pity nor sympathy resided. Elladan swallowed against the dryness in his throat and looked away. "I…I am not used to being without him, that is true," he said quietly.

"It is more than that and you must own it or face grave consequences," urged Enerdhil, his voice taking on a distinctly uneasy quality that at once caught Elladan's notice.

"I am not going to fade away," he employed the arrogant, mocking tone and winced to hear it lacquered over such horrific words. He tried again. "I am not in any danger of fading, Enerdhil."

"I did not say you were, but your soul is wounded nonetheless. He is part of you, more so than the reverse, and that is what is so painful right now. Under these conditions, you are highly vulnerable to manipulation of a specific variety."

Elladan physically flinched at this, for Enerdhil had voiced the bald, brutal kernel of his dilemma. Elrohir did not even notice how deeply his abandonment of his twin had hurt Elladan, and that was far worse than the actual fact of his preference for his espoused soul-mate. "I don't know what you mean," Elladan whispered, shaking his head faintly.

"If you cannot face this, much hardship awaits you," Enerdhil prophesied darkly. "Be wary of the sea, Elladan, and stay well away from it. The rolling immensity of it will lure you, beckoning and seductive, for against such infinite magnitude woes and worries diminish, drowned in its incessant and sonorous song. Do not go sailing upon its surface nor wandering beside it along the barren coast. Yet I know you will not heed me, even as Erestor foresaw, and so at least promise this: do not do these things alone. Take me or one of the guards with you wherever you roam."

He urged this strongly, coming close and grasping Elladan's arm tight as he peered intently into the shuttered grey eyes. It made the young lord uncomfortable and he saw it, regretting at once his error. ~Better to have said nothing, for now I have put the thought in his mind.~ With this revelation came great guilt and Enerdhil turned away even as Elladan resumed his cavalier manner.

"I thought you said you aren't along to be my nursemaid," he laughed, a forced, mirthless sound, and moved to the balcony to get some distance from Enerdhil's unsettling speech. "Enough of these gloomy forebodings. I am uncomfortable without my twin beside me and this I do admit, but I will not falter nor fall to ruin because of it. Forewarned is forearmed, as Glorfindel so likes to remind me, and now that you have done your duty I will be wary and vigilant lest one of Uinan's sea-nymphs ensnare me."

Enerdhil smiled sadly and joined his Lord's son, leaning on the rail to gaze upon the sombre city stretched before them. Mithlond was all white limestone, silver spires, and crystal domes and the rooftops shimmered and rippled, dazzling in the heat of the blistering sun, the palm trees still in the stagnant air. It was not Uinan who would be dangerous and should her watery acolytes seek out Elladan, then Enerdhil would rejoice. ~Nay, it is Ossë who poses the greatest threat to him, and he cannot guess this. Too long have you stayed by your brother's side, Elladan, imagining his presence would ever be a shield to you.~ It was not from the world this protection was required, he knew, but from Elladan himself.

"Aye, forgive my histrionic orations, Hîren. I, too, am bereft." He waited until Elladan's eyes turned in question to meet his and shrugged, a resigned and mournful motion. "Without Erestor, I feel lost and without purpose, and disappointed as well, for this trip is a sort of annual pilgrimage for us. A holiday, if you will, though there is much work done, too. In Imladris, our relationship is not condoned, but here in Mithlond no one cares at all. We are free to express it openly without censure or even notice."

Elladan's brows went up sharply; this was news indeed! He had wondered and mentioned the notion to Elrohir, who denied its credibility. Erestor and Enerdhil were friends and colleagues but surely not lovers. The brothers had wagered on it yet never discovered a polite means of settling the bet. It just wasn't good form to go to someone and ask bluntly whom they were bedding. ~Particularly when the coupling in question is forbidden.~ It was a startling thing for the advisor to admit, especially given the poor attitude Elladan had presented, and he knew not what to say in response. Yet if Enerdhil hoped his disclosure would inspire like confidence from Elladan, he was mistaken.

"Here then is another reason to disparage the Wood Elves' King," Elladan quipped, smiling to hide his discomfort.

"Indeed," Enerdhil intoned, a lop-sided smirk covering his disappointment. He did not know how he would face Erestor if anything detrimental happened. A sharp pang stabbed at his heart as he studied the young lord. There was only one course left to him, yet he hesitated, knowing Erestor would not want him to reveal what he knew unnecessarily. Still, Erestor would be furious and devastated should this terrible doom overtake the young lord. Enerdhil made his decision; he would reveal all and swear Elladan to the secrecy he himself had sworn.

"Elladan, come inside and sit. There is something serious I must discuss with you, something I hinted about earlier. I am loathe to do it, but I must reveal the true purpose behind your presence here," he said, making every effort to keep the tone of doom and dread from his voice. Elladan was peering at him with a peculiar expression on his face and shook his head.

"Once more your words confound me," he said. "I am here, if all excuses be set aside, because my parents hope my separation from Elrohir will grant him the peace of mind and freedom to complete his courtship without further confrontations. There is nothing secret about it."

"That may be so, yet there are other forces in play that you do not comprehend and it is to that I would speak, but let us retire within. I have no desire to be overheard."

"As you wish," Elladan said uneasily and retreated to the parlour again.

Yet before Enerdhil could proceed, a knock on the door preceded the promised aide, who hurriedly spirited Elladan away to begin his tour and study of the tri-part culture under which Lindon existed. Understanding all too well that this was no coincidence, Enerdhil sat down and penned a hasty report to Erestor, knowing it would not reach him in time. That done, the advisor boldly went in search of Hîr Círdan, there to plead for Elladan's removal from the council.

Elladan was exhausted. His tour of the realm had just concluded and he wanted nothing more than to summon his warriors and leave this place. Crowded, sombre, and utterly still, the mood of the tri-part city-state was unbearably depressing, the sense of despair and mourning so palpable he'd felt it as a physical weight upon his heart. Not in any of the numerous zones wherein housed the various factions did he find a healthy elven population, save one. The relatively small numbers of Faladhrim dwelling in their villages on the southern side of the Gulf of Lhûn were of the temperament Elladan associated with Telerin elves: joyful and filled with laughter and music to the point that it spilled out and bathed the streets with their singing and dancing and merry-making. How he wished his quarters were situated there!

In every other neighbourhood the people were gloomy and given to acerbic complaining should anyone seek to engage them in conversation, as Elladan had been instructed by Círdan to do. The Noldorin ghetto was by far the worst, the elves' silent fury and inestimable contempt expressed by sullen faces and dull, distrustful eyes. These people, he learned, were not awaiting passage to Aman at all. They were holding on to Ost-en-Ardaur (Capitol of the High King) against the 'hordes' of infiltrating lesser elves cramming their lofty streets and graceful gardens, polluting their fair realm with gaudy raiment, bawdy songs of the sea, and the strong odours of their humble cooking. The Noldorin folk were waiting for Gil-Galad to be reborn and return from Valinor, for they would accept no lesser scion of the House of Finwë as their rightful Lord.

This last, Elladan realised with absolute clarity, was directed pointedly at him and his family's link to the House of Finwë through Idril. As a child, he had asked his father why he did not take up the crown of the High King upon Gil-galad's death, for the great leader had died childless and Elrond was the grandson of Turgon. Elrond had explained that the time of such glories and conceits was over. His duty was not to raise up a vast kingdom of wealth and power, but to ready the world for the day when men would assume their rightful place as stewards of Arda, men of the lineage of Elros, his brother. The time of the elves was over, he'd said, though for a little while more they would be needed. Elladan was dismayed to discover the true reason Elrond had declined to rule was political opposition rather than high ideals.

These were also the people most eager to bend his ear regarding the costs involved in maintaining the last refuge of the grieving, the fearful, and the suffering. The Noldorin residents presented Elladan with claims for damages against the emigrants coming from Imladris, maintaining that the transient population depleted the area's limited resources and strained the stability of the region's struggling economy. The frustrated Noldorin Lords and Ladies of Lindon (not Mithlond, which was Círdan's city) complained that they frequently had to dip into their private store of riches to cover the expenses of these penniless, broken people who showed up hoping for passage to the Blessed Realm. When he'd asked why this was not addressed with the ruling council of Lindon, the elves had practically blasted him deaf with their vociferous denouncements of the Telerin Lord and his cronies, who in no circumstance could ever be considered worthy to rule them.

Now dwelling beside the Noldor section of Forlond was a sizeable contingent of Sindarin people, refugees from the kingdoms of Gondolin and Doriath. One might imagine these two groups would have coalesced into a single body yet it was not so. Those who counted themselves 'Doriathians' held themselves aloof from the grey elves they named 'Gondolindhrim' and flatly refused to have anything to do with the Noldorin 'kin-slayers'. Círdan was the recognised Lord of the Doriathians while the Gondolindhrim claimed Galdor as their rightful leader, dismissing the connection between Imladris and Turgon as easily as did the Noldor and for similar reasons.

The Doriathians occupied a narrow strip of forested land between the Houses of Healing and the palace, complaining the area was too small, adding that the wooded foothills of Ered Lhuin, which abutted Forlond, ought to be given to them rather than left to the scattered clusters of Avarin elves which had been living there since the Great Journey. The Avarin silvans answered these arguments with the suggestion that the Doriathians go join Thranduil in his Greenwood beyond Hithaeglir, an insult of the highest order according to people acclimated to the high culture of Thingol and Melian. The majority of disputes brought before Círdan and Galdor to decide involved the divided Sindarin population and their many altercations with the Noldor and the Avari.

Elladan began to understand why the council on emigration was held annually, an undeniably short amount of time for the First-born.

That he had visited the Noldorin quarter last and the Houses of Healing first was a mistake. Elladan was irritated that Círdan had insisted on this order. Surely he must understand how thoroughly hopeless and useless he would feel upon concluding such a tour of inspection. Yet if Elladan had been eager to leave the sick and dying, he had not been eager to mingle with the Telerin folk of Harlond, thinking them rather simple and lacking in the depth of understanding to which he was accustomed. The Faladhrim reminded him most of the Galadhrim, who had gained a veneer of refinement thanks to Galadriel and Celeborn's efforts to educate them yet remained at heart silvan hunter-gatherers unconcerned with conditions or peoples beyond the borders of their woods. So, too, had the elves of the sea benefited from association with Gil-galad and his people, yet were still rather blind to the rest of the world. The Telerin tribes remained closely attached to their particular environments, the Galadhrim to their Mallorn forest and the Faladhrim to their raging surf.

The sea-elves were enamoured of their life beside the realm of Ulmo and Ossë, delighting in their pleasure boats and their fishing fleets and their warships alike. Every song on their lips proclaimed their love and pride for their home and they did not look with yearning upon the horizon, searching for the dim dark mass of the hidden realm of the Valar. They gazed upon the faint grey line betwixt air and earth with hunger, eager simply to be out there, to discover and explore what wonders might be waiting for them in the vast and uncharted expanse of the open sea. They spoke to Elladan of friendship forged between them and the great Dinen Thuiadhrim (Underwater Breathers), immense creatures that dwelled solely in the oceans but unlike fishes breathed the air above the whitecaps. They told him of their festivals based on the shifting patterns of the stars, so bright and clear above the darkened deeps. Indeed, the Faladhrim referred to the sky as Aear-en-Ellanath, the Sea of Stars. Not a few of these humble folk had offered to teach him sailing and ship building as well. Their welcome and their jovial nature won him and Elladan went form Harlond with a light heart and many invitations to gatherings and dances that he was pleased to accept.

He had not come to them with so pleasant an outlook. The Houses of Healing were not a collection of wards for treatment and cures; they were an entire sector of the realm. All of Mithlond was surrounded by vast ghettos of housing for the sick, the dying, the fading, and those consumed by their sorrows unto madness. They were divided by degrees of morbidity, those closest to death pushed to the extreme edges of the city walls where the husk of the body could be easily and surreptitiously removed for burial once the end finally came. Relatives and loved ones watched over these ephemeral citizens, tending ailments of body and soul with varying levels of skill and tenderness, ever nervous and fearful that the time for leaving was too far off and their charges would perish before sailing. When not attending the sick, these folk haunted the streets and crowded the courtyard of Círdan's palace, seeking alms and news of the next launching.

Others secretly feared for their kin to even attempt the journey and in subtle ways delayed their passage, subconsciously hoping for the separation of Hroa and Feä that would release both the suffering individual and the people watching them decline. Elladan had seen this attitude before in Imladris; fear of Námo's judgement easier to face than fear of the unknown and treacherous sea. If one must die, was it not preferable to die quietly in the embrace of kith and kin than to drown in terror beneath the green waves? Many who might recover on the Blessed Shores were prevented from taking the journey, various excuses, the principal one being lack of money to fund the building of the ship and the purchase of stores, posited as the cause. The second greatest protest pertained to lack of experience handling boats on the open sea, for the Faladhrim did not, for the most part, sail the vessels designed for these voyages, being unwilling to leave forever their homeland.

None who made the crossing could return, or at least none ever had, and it was necessary to create and train a crew from among the very folk so ill and reduced in strength and vigour. Sometimes the relatives and loved ones made the commitment to go and these cases usually sailed quickly, the healthy more able to learn the intricate skills required to navigate the sea and control the able crafts constructed for them. Yet it took time to develop the level of expertise required for a journey of such magnitude, and so the desperate lingered, lost in the piteous meanderings of their blasted souls. Those closer to the palace were still painfully aware of everything going on around them, a condition that surely added to their burdens, and Elladan had gazed into eyes so filled with misery, listened to laments and dirges so dismal, that his heart had come near to despair, the plight of these people resonating with his personal dilemma. Upon leaving the blighted zone for the quays of the harbour, he'd looked back and spied a dilapidated building adorned with an ominous sign: Suilannad an Ost-en-Amdir-Awarthant (Welcome to the City of Hope Abandoned).

Standing on his balcony now, the lovely rooftops of Lindon no longer inspired his romantic notions of a metropolitan enclave where many cultures mixed without mingling. This was a complex realm where a multitude of divergent views and opinions clashed, none of their respective adherents overly tolerant of the others, all of them consumed with the particular concerns of their immediate and separate needs. The Noldor scorned the Teleri who ignored them pointedly. The sick and their kin demanded priority in all issues that arose and insisted on a presence amid the ruling council. The long established population of Sindarin folk, both Doriathians and Gondolindhrim, considered themselves above everyone else and dominated the council, a feat achieved by intermarriage with the noble Telerin Houses, whom they considered of the same people, for all had remained behind in support of Elwë at the time of the Great Journey. Every single clique and clan agreed on only one thing: that the cost of supporting the ever-changing yet constant population of ailing and fading elves should be borne by the lands from which those elves derived.

"You begin to comprehend the problems here," said Enerdhil, joining Elladan on the balcony. In his hands were two cups of wine, one of which he handed to Elrond's son as he came to the wrought iron railing and gazed upon the city. "It looks so magnificent," he mused. "One would never imagine how turbulent and divided the people are."

"I think if I remained in this city a century I would still not understand all that underpins the dissension infecting this place," rejoined Elladan, sipping the wine and relishing the cool, dry flavour as it slid down his throat. He wanted Enerdhil to leave him in peace with his thoughts but had little hope this would be his lot. There would be the obligatory state dinner to attend or a preliminary meeting of the councillors for the strengthening of ties and the renewing of alliances. "Would that I had remained in Annúminas with Arantar. I am beyond my ken here."

"Nay, this is but your first day. Given time and sufficient preparation, you would become a fine delegate to this council," encouraged Enerdhil. "No one can mend the troubles afflicting Mithlond save the Valar themselves. But they are not here so we must do what we can to keep this place at peace and functioning. You know now the magnitude of the burden placed on Hîr Círdan in serving this multitude of suffering beings. It is a noble cause Mithlond upholds, even if her people are less than pleased by its impositions."

Elladan nodded vaguely, thinking on the grave topic Enerdhil had tried to introduce earlier. Perhaps now they could continue, unless obligations to Círdan intervened again. "What is next on our agenda?" he asked and drained his goblet dry.

"For you, nothing until the morrow. Círdan knows how draining this day has been for you. I will fulfil the role of Imladris' ambassador at the formal dinner tonight. You are to stay here and rest. Sleep would be best if you can manage it."

"I would be lying if I claimed to be disappointed by these arrangements. Thank you, Enerdhil." Elladan was so relieved to hear this he refrained from reminding the advisor that he was a seasoned warrior and could sleep anytime, anywhere as need demanded. Instead he smiled in gratitude. "Do not commit me to any obligations to any of the noble Houses, especially regarding courtship of fair daughters or spinster aunts."

"Oh, I would never presume to do so," assured Enerdhil, "but you might consider marriage. It is an honourable station and an impenetrable shield against the criticisms of our culture."

"Is this advice part of the news you wished to share with me?" Elladan stiffened and frowned. "Am I slated to endure a political bond with someone I neither know nor care about? I will tell you now quite plainly: I would not marry for so selfish a cause, nor for any reason that did not include full commitment of the heart and soul."

A servant invaded at this moment, announcing the arrival of Hîr Círdan, and Elladan was spared further discussion on the merits of hiding his true nature behind the dubious propriety of a sham marriage. Enerdhil was once again forced to hold his tongue regarding the information he felt compelled to divulge, though Círdan had counselled him to wait as it might not be necessary. The noble Teleri Lord interrogated his newest delegate regarding his researches and seemed satisfied. He left, taking Enerdhil with him, admonishing Elladan to remain in the palace and rest. That marked the third time Elladan had been warned to not to wander off on his own.

He scowled, thinking on that, displeased and confused as to why everyone judged him incapable of looking after himself. Just because he had always been at Elrohir's side did not mean he could not comport himself properly without his twin. Had he really behaved like a shadow of his brother rather than exhibiting his own personality? Even as he wondered Elladan knew it was true; early in his adolescence he'd realised the one difference they shared was the one that would never be tolerated, and he'd feared to lose the respect and esteem of his peers and his betters. Most people assumed the identical twins to be identical in all ways, and the brothers had let them.

Yet now he must consider a new possibility. Perhaps everyone already knew, for Enerdhil clearly did, as did Hîr Círdan. Perhaps it had been obvious all along and he was the only one who thought his secret secure, lulled by the notion that Elrohir's outgoing, glowing perfection would shield him.

That led to another unpleasant idea: had Elrohir postponed his courtship and betrothal for love of his brother, out of pity for the lonely fate his twin must endure? How shameful, then, Elladan's dismissal of Elrohir's attraction for Echuil'laer as one of base lust that could easily be satisfied, the comely maid forgotten once she'd served her purpose. How cold his insistence that Elrohir woo her and bed her quickly that the twins might then resume their life of soldiering, their life together.

~Ai! Forgive me, Muindoren. I was the selfish one.~

He breathed a woebegone lungful of air, finding the suite stifling, yet when he retreated to the balcony the atmosphere was decidedly heavy and humid. The sound of music and laughter arose from the palace ballroom below and he suddenly felt isolated and ostracised. The fact that he had been purposely avoiding everyone and everything since leaving Imladris was irrelevant and he found himself wishing Enerdhil had remained with him. Even an argument was preferable to being shunned.

~Elrohir rejects me utterly, Adar and Naneth send me packing, and now these odious people scorn my presence at their posh soiree.~

With frightening clarity he saw his life stretched out before him, century upon century passing as he endured, alone, the cool courtesy reserved for those who were different, abnormal, marked by weak-willed surrender to unseemly tastes and habits, not fit for more than the most formal degrees of contact and that only because of his heritage. A thousand sets of eyes would peruse him, sneering at his secret with but faintly hidden scorn and aversion. He would look in his mother's eyes and see shame; in his father's, pity.

It was too much; he banished the unwholesome scene from his mind with an audible cry, abruptly turning from the view to take up his cloak, exhorting the servant not to trouble either Enerdhil or Hîr Círdan with his departure as he would most likely return before the feast ended. He fled along the narrow streets threaded between the close and crowded houses, heading for the harbour and the quays. There he secured passage on a ferry and crossed the bay into Forlond. Once there, he avoided the neat, symmetrical neighbourhoods, ignored the quiet square with its empty stalls and shuttered shops, and followed the path through the lowlands to land's end, there to turn and stride northward along the coast.

The wind picked up, gusting from the north, and he was glad for the cloak, pulling it close and raising the hood. A few of the Faladhrim were about, clustered in small groups around bonfires, singing, sharing their thick, brown gwinnaur (fire-wine). Curious and friendly, several invited him to join, but while he was tempted he declined, judging himself unfit to endure their questions or participate in their merriment. He paced on and in time left even the sea-elves behind, passing beyond the borders of Forlond. Here the landscape was empty and wild, the dunes capped with waving plumes of golden grass, the full heads of seed nodding and bowing in the brisk breeze.

The tide was coming in, waves pounding with thunderous power against the strand, the light of Ithil revealing the high, round backs of the approaching swells ere they turned over and flashed their white foaming underbellies, eviscerated in the shallows of the beach. It was a strange and alien landscape and Elladan found it suited his sombre mood. Just as he was wondering how long it would be before Enerdhil sent the guard looking for him, he heard a faint and fragile voice upon the wind that as quickly disappeared beneath the crashing of the surf.

The sound startled him, so far from any dwelling, and at first he thought perhaps he'd stumbled upon a village of the Avari people. Yet the sound had come from the sea and next his heart skipped, wondering if he'd just heard the song of Dinen Thuiadhrim of which the sailors had spoken. Eagerly he turned to face the darkly roiling ocean, hoping to spy the spout and spray of the mighty beasts. Long he remained fixed, waiting for proof that he had not imagined it, and then a shift in the wind brought him another snatch of the musical voice.

This time there was enough of it to understand words and detect a sweet and haunting tune accompanied by a chord from the strings of a harp or lyre. The singer was elf-kind and he wondered what other lonely soul was wandering the shores in the night, seeking solace in the sea. Before he could decide whether or not to search for this person, a voice right behind him made Elladan startle badly.

"Suilad, Elladan. Have you heard the call of the sea?"

Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.
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Barad-en-Elei (Fortress of Dreams)

~ Part Three: Círdan ~