A Parting Of The Ways by Grundy

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All That You Can't Leave Behind

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Some hours later, Elros found himself the last place he had expected to be – in Elrond’s rooms.

As not only Gil-galad’s young kinsman (and heir – Elrond might have dodged being King of the Sindar, but he was still stuck as Crown Prince of the Noldor, a fact the Noldaran had laughingly reminded him of on their way in) but also his herald, Elrond had been given embarrassingly large rooms in the newly built King’s House in Mithlond.

Elros guessed, based on his twin’s faintly embarrassed reaction, that Elrond found the rooms too much. The space he had been given was larger than Maedhros’, Maglor’s, and the twins’ rooms at Amon Ereb combined.

Elros tried not to stumble as he made his way through first an office and then a more private study, both of which were impossibly Elrond – lined with books, though he saw none of the ones sent from Amon Ereb. Not that Elros really thought that they would be out in the open. Still too painful to look at, he imagined. He was relieved not to see them.

He regretted what he’d said to Elrond years ago, when they’d first been sent away. The books hadn’t been a bribe. Maedhros had seen them as one of the few tangible things he had been able to give them. The books, some clothes, a sword each, and some wall hangings. In Maedhros’ eyes, it had no doubt seemed pitifully little to bequeath the last princes of the Noldor. 

He wished he could shake the angry young elf he’d been and warn him how little time his foster father had left, and how it would end.

He did miss his footing as they reached the bedroom, but fortunately his brother caught him before he could fall. They’d had a decent amount of wine with dinner, but not so much as to render the now mortal twin completely legless. Elrond, drat him, never had any such problem. He had the same uncanny ability Maedhros had always demonstrated of being able to drink as much as he liked without any apparent ill effects.

“Kind of you to make sure I could still walk, but I’m wondering why we ended up here,” Elros protested weakly, sprawling gratefully on the bed. “I am supposed to sleep aboard ship, you know. Leaving first thing in the morning. Sailing at dawn, all poetic like. It will be a good song, when they make the songs about how the new age began.”

“I thought, as we’re speaking about all the troublesome matters today, we should talk this over as well,” Elrond said, rummaging through an ornate clothes press that must be the work of the Noldor.

No craftsman of the Edain or the Sindar would have bothered with the flourishes on the feet, Elros reflected. Why did the Noldor like everything so complicated? Then again, who was he to talk?

He watched in some puzzlement as his twin drew out a sizeable chest, heaving it onto the bed next to him.

“What’s this?” Elros asked, managing to pull himself upright on the second try.

Elrond lifted the lid, and Elros couldn’t help the awestruck Mannish curse that slipped out at what was inside.

“Is that Thingol’s sword?” he demanded in disbelief. “I thought it was lost in the sack of Menegroth!”

Both twins had gone through the War of Wrath with the swords forged for them at Amon Ereb. Elros still had his, but Elrond’s had been broken defending the hospital tents when the camp at Aeluin was overrun in the Battle of Taur-nu-Fuin. (He’s pretty sure Elrond had the pieces. Given long enough, maybe he’ll let Celebrimbor put it back together again. Or just make him a new one.)

Elrond shook his head.

“Apparently it was carried away to safety with Naneth,” he said. “Celeborn found it in the Queen’s House after Sirion. Along with these.”

He brought out a second sword, an battleaxe, and a small box.

“I thought you might want them,” Elrond explained. “Gil-galad brought it all back to Balar, and then here to Lindon when Balar was evacuated.”

The smaller sword was more graceful, and though he was unable to place it, Elros found its mix of Noldorin form and Sindarin sensibilities made it one of the most elegant he’d ever seen.

“Whose was that one?” he asked.

“Idril’s, apparently,” Elrond said. “The axe was Tuor’s. They took no weapons with them when they sailed. I suppose they thought it would be inappropriate.”

“Or maybe they just realized Eärendil and Elwing needed them more than they would. Not much use for swords and axes in the Blessed Land, I expect. What’s in the box?”

Elros swore again as Elrond handed him a ring composed of two serpents with emerald eyes, one devouring and the other supporting a crown of golden flowers.

“The Ring of Barahir?” he spluttered. “Shouldn’t that rightly go to Galadriel?”

Elrond shook his head.

“I offered it to her. She didn’t want it. Said it was a symbol of a promise kept, and an heirloom of the line of Luthien. Besides, I don’t think it exactly brings warm or happy memories for her.”

“No, I suppose not,” Elros murmured. “Though it must be some comfort to know Findarato lives again, beyond the Sea. How did you want to divide it up? Should we take turns picking? I’m not exactly lacking for famous weapons, you know.”

Elrond smiled. Not only had Elros’ Fëanorian-made sword survived the war, the House of Bëor had recently presented their new King with the Bow of Bregor. Thankfully, as the twins had been instructed by elven archers since they were fifteen, Elros had been able to acquit himself honorably with it.

“As you are the elder, I thought it would all go to you,” he said.

Elros glared at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t take it all.”

Elrond looked puzzled.

“Why not? I’m no king, I have no need of impressive heirlooms,” he shrugged. “Besides, Aranruth is much too long for me, and I’ve never favored axes.”

Elros hesitated a moment, then lifted Idril’s sword off the bed and handed it to his brother along with the ring.

“Those are yours, then. You may not need heirlooms, but you could do with a sword, and that one suits you.”

“I don’t need the ring,” Elrond replied. “Take it, with the same spirit from me it was originally given in – should one of your line ever bring it to me, I will recognize it as a sign of our kinship and grant him whatever aid he may seek from me.”

“Good to hear all those lectures about oaths and vows sunk in,” Elros said with a shake of his head at his brother’s careful wording. But the feeling was genuine enough, and it was a reassuring thought. His children and grandchildren might not need such help, but something in him whispered that eventually there would come such a day. 

“Fine, I’ll take the rest of the lot. At least you’re not protesting the sword.”

Elrond lifted it cautiously, almost speculatively.

“It does seem to suit me,” he allowed, with an experimental swing to test the weight. “You know, I’ve never really looked at it before – it’s stamped with Maeglin’s mark.”

“You’re definitely keeping it, then” Elros snorted. “I don’t want anything that creep made. Besides, what sort of example would that be for any daughter I may have? ‘Look, darling, here’s the sword made for your great-grandmother by the traitorous cousin who harbored an unnatural desire for her and sought to kill your grandfather.’ Can you imagine it?”

“It’s a good sword,” Elrond said thoughtfully. “And surely the relevant lesson for your as yet hypothetical daughter is that Idril didn’t hesitate to use the sword Maeglin made when the need arose.”

“Be sure you pass that bit of wisdom on to your daughter when you pass her the sword,” Elros sniffed.

He was surprised to see a small smile play across Elrond’s face.

“You know, I think I might at that,” he murmured.

“Foresight?” Elros asked warily.

He himself had never experienced more in the way of foresight than an ordinary elf, but his brother...

Elrond might have inherited the ability from either side, for both Luthien and Idril were known to have had the gift. Happily, Elrond’s had never been as broad in scope – or disorienting in practice – as Galadriel’s. But it was an unreliable gift in Elros’ opinion, often fleeting and incomplete, and from what Elrond had shared, as likely to reveal trivialities as anything truly useful.

Elrond smiled.

“Of a sort,” he said. “Merely the conviction that I will someday have a daughter to pass the sword on to, who will hold the gift in high esteem. No more than that.”

“Shame,” Elros grinned. “I should have liked to know more. When she’ll be born, for example, and if her poor old uncle Elros has any hope of meeting her.”

“Sadly, such details were not illuminated,” Elrond said. “Though I suspect she will be like you in temperament.”

“Oh, well, that’s all right then,” Elros replied cheerfully. “She can be born thousands of years from now, at least I’ll have the comfort of knowing someone will be around to keep you on your toes.”

Elrond handed him the box for the ring.

“Come on. We’d better get your heirlooms packed up and them and you onto your ship. Your people will be getting worried.”

“You’re the one who said they can’t leave without me,” Elros scoffed, not being very helpful with the packing, less from a desire to be difficult than from a lack of coordination. “You will come visit, won’t you?”

Elrond sighed as he attempted to heave both the chest and his brother off the bed.

“Of course I will visit. This may be the largest number of your people to set out, but it won’t be the last of them. Ships will be going regularly for years yet to come. I shall give you enough time to settle in and set up a spare room before I make a pest of myself.”

“You’re always a pest,” Elros announced cheerfully, taking one handle of the chest and attempting to move in the same direction as his brother.

Elrond’s expression seemed to indicate it wasn’t entirely working.

“How about you just focus on walking and leave this to me?” he suggested drily.

“Not fair you got the alcohol tolerance,” Elros mumbled.

It was still slow going, but with Elrond steering they made it safely to the door of the King’s House, where a rather amused Gil-Galad was waiting to bid Elros farewell.

It only occurred to him as they reached the ship, where Elrond looked unreasonably relieved to see others waiting to take charge of their King, that the farewell with his cousin might well have been permanent.

“Do you think he’ll come visit too?” he asked, doing his best to sober up.

Elrond’s expression was oddly gentle.

“I’m sure he will try,” he replied.

“But you will, right?” Elros said, pulling himself up straight.  He was bloody well going to walk onto his ship under his own power – and in a straight line.

“Of course,” Elrond said with a small smile, handing the chest to the tall Men who came down the gangplank to meet the King and his brother.

“Take care of him, please,” he added.

“Of course, Lord Elrond,” smiled the taller one, a man of the Bëorions.

Elros snorted.

“You talk as if I’m not a grown man,” he sighed.

You are indeed, Elrond replied sadly. A grown Man.

Elros pulled his brother into a tight embrace.

I may be a Man now, but you will always be my brother.

“I would tell you to stay out of trouble, but I know you too well,” Elrond said, not entirely succeeding at keeping his voice even. “May the stars shine on your voyage.”

“And on you,” Elros replied, his own voice suddenly a little thick.

He might have already chosen, but even knowing that Elrond would visit the land the Valar had made for them, this parting made it suddenly much more real.

Elrond finally let go, straightening to stand tall.

“Farewell, Men of the West,” Elrond said formally.

“Until we meet again,” Elros replied.