A Dream That Words Can No Longer Define by Independence1776

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A Dream That Words Can No Longer Define

Elrond stared out the window at the quays of Avallónë, dim in the dusk. This time tomorrow, he'd be sailing-- on the Straight Road back to Middle-earth. It was more than a bit unnerving, that he was doing something none of the Eldar had done since Glorfindel, but also because it meant his long campaign had been successful. Lamps along the roads and docks flickered on as he watched, matching the stars coming out in the sky. He let go of the blue-and-green plaid curtain and turned to leave the suite. Celebrían and their sons were waiting for him in the inn's smaller of two private dining rooms, but he'd needed a little time to himself before dinner.

He stepped into the hallway and made sure the door locked behind him. Even here, surrounded by guards and staying in an inn run by some of his wife's friends, ones she'd made while living on Tol Eressëa after she'd left Middle-earth, he took precautions.

Not everyone was happy with why he'd sail.

The sounds from the common room filtered up the stairs as he walked down the two flights to the ground floor. The noise wasn't angry, though. It was a relief given the threats that had been made, but something he'd hoped for, as the inn also hosted three other groups of people gathered to say farewell to someone sailing.

Elrond paused on the bottom step, hand on the wooden banister, and looked around the room. Glorfindel, on guard near the inn's entrance, nodded at him, but didn't look worried about anything. Several off-duty guards played a dice game on a table in the corner formed by the staircase and wall, next to a table with a woman reading the menu to her blind wife. The minstrel near the fireplace talked with a group of men, gesturing wildly with his hands. Many families sat in the middle of the room, though the small tables near the windows tended to have couples of varying ages, and several tables pushed together against the far wall were filled with Kindi, one of whom Elrond recognized as a fellow sailor.

The din was near-deafening now, and Elrond could pick out half a dozen languages being spoken. The smells of alcohol and cooking food permeated the room, and his stomach rumbled. Elrond let go of the banister and turned into the hallway next to the stairs. He opened the first door on the left and shut it behind him, blocking most of the cacophony out.

His family, seated at the round table in the middle of the small room, smiled at him. They'd already opened a bottle of white wine, and a glass of it waited at his place. Moments after he sat down, the door opened and one of the inn's employees entered with a large tray of food. She put down a basket of fresh rolls in the center of the table, and then placed plates in front of them. After making sure no one needed anything else, Celebrían handed her a tip and she left them in peace.

Elrond took a bite of his pulled pork and nodded in satisfaction. Celebrían did likewise over her baked whitefish. Elladan's eyebrows rose when he tasted his roast beef and then proceeded to eat with gusto. Elrohir merely smiled when he tasted his perch. Elrond kept quiet, only contributing to the conversation about what novels they'd recently read when deliberately asked for his opinion. Only when they finished eating and were enjoying a glass of peach dessert wine did he finally speak. “Are you sure you don't want to come?”

Elrohir put down his glass. “You know I have no desire to return to Middle-earth, Father. Even if I did, hunting for my adoptive grandfather in likely hostile lands holds no appeal. And there's the new dispute about fishing rights in the Ekkaia Mother and I need to concentrate on.”

Elrond nodded and said, “Elladan?”

Elladan said, “Maybe in a few decades, though I doubt I will be of any help to you. I think the Valar want it to be you who finds him.”

“I do, too,” Celebrían said, reaching out and squeezing Elrond's free hand. “Even Ulmo said he would be unable to help you more than he already has.”

And Ulmo was the one who was most compassionate toward the Exiles, even in the First Age. But Elrond agreed with their conclusion-- Nerdanel was ambivalent about the possibility of her son returning to Aman; Narmincë had not yet responded to his letter; and Celebrimbor refused to leave, as did other relatives and friends. Elrond was the only one to have both a personal connection to Maglor and the desire to return to mortal lands. But more than that, he was Maglor's son. Apart from Narmincë and Nerdanel, he was the only person who had even a chance of being listened to. And he had been the one who broached the topic several yéni ago, and continued pushing for it despite the heavy opposition.

“I expected as much,” he finally said. “It is enough of a concession to bring him here and not immediately imprison him in Mandos. I doubt Father would believe someone he has no reason to trust. Though the Valar do not want this to be easy.”

Elrohir snorted. “Have they ever?”

Elladan sighed. “They have sent people to Middle-earth before, albeit rarely and none since the Third Age. But it's also a way to accustom people to the fact of his return. It's one thing to debate hypotheticals, but now it's fact. Even though-- and especially because-- it may take years to accomplish.”

“I will bring him home,” Elrond said. “Even if it takes me yéni to find him.”

Celebrían smiled. “I know you will.”

* * * * *

Later that evening, after they'd retired to their room, Elrond stood at the window, looking out over the now-dark bay and the shining of the stars on the Sea beyond. Celebrían joined him, wrapping a bare arm around his waist and leaning her head on his shoulder. “How long do you think it will be?”

Elrond kissed the top of her head and let go of the curtain. It swung closed as Elrond shifted to meet his wife's eyes. “I truly do not know, Celebrían. It depends on the information I can gather and how fast I'm able to. Ulmo said Maglor was on the coast of the Sea, but he was forbidden to say precisely where.”

“It's as much a test for you as for Aman,” Celebrían muttered. Speaking a bit clearer, she continued, “Though still calling yourself Maglorion after several Ages ought to be enough of a clue, especially after you came to know your biological parents.”

Elrond snorted. “Not that it stops people from calling me Eärendilion-- or from thinking I want revenge. But I wouldn't bring Father home if I knew he would simply be imprisoned-- or executed. He has a chance here now, one he wouldn't have had not long ago.”

“I'm not sure he'll want to hear that.”

Elrond closed his eyes. “I know. If he truly is happier on Middle-earth, then I will leave him be after making sure he understands that the choice is open for him to sail in the future.” He opened them. “But I want him here.”

Celebrían kissed him. “So do I, Elrond. I'd love to talk to him. But it is his choice.” She drew away from him and reached up to unlace the ties of his tunic. “Now come to bed. If this is to be the last night we have together for a while, then I want it to be memorable.”

* * * * *

The quay was chaos, with an atmosphere a strange mixture of jubilation and apprehension. And not just for the possibility of Maglor returning, but for the very real danger that the twenty-four passengers on the first ship returning to Middle-earth in Ages would be discovered as something other than mortal.

Elrond did not envy the seven people under Alagos' command tasked to bring back as much information about Middle-earth as possible, partly for knowledge and partly to see if long-term bidirectional travel was feasible. Nor did he envy the fifteen Avari returning to approach those of their six clans who had not sailed, both for information and to renew broken bonds. He was well aware that his fellow sailors did not envy him his task, nor would any help him. He had not expected them to.

Finally, though, the baggage was stored in the hold and the Telerin sailors allowed the passengers to board. Elrond clasped Glorfindel's arms in farewell, and then turned to his sons. They pulled him into a hug and it was difficult to release them. But he eventually had to.

Celebrían walked with him, hand in hand, to the gangplank. They kissed deeply and broke apart reluctantly. He ran a hand down Celebrían's cheek, wishing she could come with. This would be the longest time they'd been separated since she'd traveled here in the Third Age, but she would run the House while he searched. She brushed another kiss across his lips and then moved back.

Elrond smiled in farewell, turned, and stepped onto the gangplank. He went to the bow, nodding at Alagos as he passed by and staying out of the way of the sailors casting off. He didn't look back as the white ship sailed out of the bay and onto the Straight Road.

Chapter End Notes

When I started writing the first draft of Rise Again From Ashes in August 2008, I never imagined it would grow into a series, much less one that would take five years to complete. It has been a labor of love.

I want to thank my betas Pandemonium_213 (RAFA), the Lizard Council (the Second Age fics), and Elleth (everything else). They truly made this ‘verse better than it would have otherwise been. Most of all, I thank you, the readers-- lurkers and reviewers alike. Knowing you enjoyed it was enough to brighten many a day.

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