I Choose a Mortal Life by Uvatha the Horseman

Coming To Terms

Elrond walked the streets of the settlement, turning left or right at random. There weren't enough alleys or back-streets in which to lose himself. After a short time, he found himself on the path that led to the dock.

He left the shelter of the palm grove and crossed the sand. The ship creaked on its mooring ropes.

Colonists carried burdens from the ship and wrestled them into carts located just above the loose sand, where the path began. Elrond mounted the foot of the dock and squeezed around them, headed for the gangway.

Leave, just leave. Board the ship without saying goodbye.

A sailor supervising the unloading added a knot to a tally-cord for each burden that left the ship.

"When do you sail for Lindon?" Elrond asked him.

"As long as it takes us to unload the ship, and reload with timber and furs. At least two or three days, but more likely a week."

Elrond's heart sank. That was a long time to wait. Unable to sail and unwilling to return to the house, Elrond walked down the beach. He needed to think.

Waves broke and sent fingers of surf advancing up the beach. Seabirds wheeled overhead, and at the top of the hard-packed sand, bands of shells crunched beneath his feet.

You were my only family. How could you leave me?

How did one become mortal, anyway? By deciding to? By speaking the words? Though a ceremony?

As the settlement receded behind him, the hum of insects grew louder. Palm trees grew above the high tide line, filled with the cry of tropical birds. Could Elros convert back, if not too much time had gone by? What if he could, but chose not to.

Elrond walked until he was tired, then sank down with his head on his knees. The surf hissed up the hard-packed sand, making small crabs run before it and follow it out again.

Why had Elros chosen to become mortal? To fit in with his fellow colonists? Elrond didn't believe that. Elros already wore the short hair and rustic clothing of Men. He'd passed for Mannish when he got on the ship. He already fit in. He had no reason to give up his immortality

Elrond's head was spinning. To make sense of it, he needed some perspective.

Suppose he were advising his master. Elrond kept his mind still. Eventually an image started to form. Gil-galad strode across the beach, his face grim. The sun glinted from his armor, and a silken banner streamed from the tip of his lance.

"Elrond, I seek your council. My brother has chosen a mortal life," said Gil-galad.

"Is his path set, his feet already taking steps along the way?" said Elrond.

"Yes. The first signs of aging are already upon him."

"Then he is mortal already. You cannot change him. You must accept him as he is."

Elrond came to with a start. That was not the answer he was looking for.