Shores Of Memory by LadySternchen  

“Do you remember? The last time we sat here in this spot?”

His words come out much more emotional than intended, which rather annoys Elmo. Sounding weepy is not what he wants just now. For once in their life, he needs to be the one who gives his brother a sense of security. After all, it has been enough hard work to lure Elu out of his caves and get him to come to the lake at all, he does not want to spoil his efforts now by his lack of self-control.

“I do. No sun, then.”

It takes considerable effort for Elmo to not roll his eyes, but he manages. At least Elu has answered, so that is something.

Clutching at straws, that is what you are doing, Elmo thinks to himself.

Alound he says:
“True. The stars were reflected in the water, though. It was beautiful.”

This time, Elu remains silent, gazing out over the water with his eyes out of focus. Dragonflies are darting over the surface, glittering blue and green, and a soft breeze caresses the reeds that grow on the banks and in the shallow waters. It is the most beautiful summer’s day.

Yet the warmth does not truly reach Elu, and Elmo wonders if anything still can. Lúthien may have healed him from his state of frozen terror upon her return, but there is no assuaging his grief. Not truly.

It is not unexpected, of course, not at all, but still Elmo feels somewhat crestfallen. He has hoped, stupidly, childishly almost, that their trip to the lake might somehow stir Elu out of his oppressing guilt, but that hope is dwindling quickly.

The lake has been their retreat, once, before all was tuned to evil, and Elmo’s mind has been wandering towards it a lot lately, imagining how it would look in the changing seasons and the light of the sun.

“That is how it was back at Cuiviénen.”

Elu’s words take Elmo by surprise alright, and make a little flame of hope lick at his insides.

“What?”

His brother smiles a little, the first smile he has given Elmo in quite a while.

“The stars in the water. Cuiviénen looked just like that.”

“I do not recall. Not really.”

There is understanding in Elu’s gaze even as he shakes his head, a look so painfully familiar that Elmo feels his heart clench.

“I would not have expected you to. You were still so small when we left.”

“Not this small, surely. I remember your emissary to Valinor well enough.”

“Do you? Or do you only remember the terror of being left behind? Those emotions stick  to the mind far better than actual memory.”

The words make Elmo flinch. Never once has Elu tried to deny how he has hurt Elmo by leaving for Valinor, never sought to somehow justify his actions- actions that have, after all, been perfectly justified. Yet there is also no plea for forgiveness in his brother’s tone, no underlying desire to be told that it has all not been so bad. Such has always been Elu’s habit, and for some reason, it makes Elmo want to protect his brother from the harsh blame he puts upon himself, much more so than had Elu felt sorry for himself.

“I remember thinking that I could not survive a single day without you. There was no room in my head for anything but the terror of you being gone. I so, so missed you.”

“I know.” Elu says simply.

“Mablung always made a point of ensuring that I joined the games. And over time, days were filled again with play rather than longing.”

“But not the nights.”

“No. Not the nights. At night, I would cry for you. Poor Olwë grew quite desperate. And it must have hurt him, too. I sometimes wish I could tell him that I never loved him less. But you…”

There is so much Elmo might say to complete the sentence, but he does not. Elu knows  anyway, there is no need for him voicing that he has been the most important person in Elmo’s life throughout his childhood and youth, the one to give him the sense of security and love a parent would give, while still remaining his brother with whom Elmo could play and brawl.

A sudden memory strikes Elmo, and he laughs out loud.

“Remember how I always used to jump on your back?”

Elu snorts.

“Yes. I still marvel at how we managed to not end up in a campfire or in the water or with us both breaking our necks. You always caught me unawares.”

Elmo snickers. This feels so so good to joke with Elu again.

“I know. How, though? I did it every time you crouched somewhere. You might have anticipated it after a while.”

He says that only to tease his brother, knowing full well that young children always manage to have surprise act for them. Being a father has taught him that.

Sudden pain pierces his heart at that thought, a pain that cannot be remedied, one that not even time can ease. Galadhon. Oh, how he misses his child, his laughter, and what would he not give to be able to see his son again. Galadhon’s death has changed his life so much, has brought so much sorrow. His own grief is one thing, but there is also Thônwen’s, and the painful understanding that he can do nothing to help his wife to overcome it, simply because there is no overcoming the loss of a child. All they can do is hold each other and stay close in their suffering, but never find comfort.

And also, Galadhon’s death has for so long cooled his relationship with Elu. He does not want to blame his brother for his son’s death, knows that he is indeed guiltless, and yet… and yet Galadhon has ridden to war following his king, a king who should have kept him safe. For some reason, the fact that Elu has felt so guilty only made Elmo blame him more, feelings of how only he himself and Thônwen and Celebren and the boys should be allowed to grieve poisoning his mind.

It took Lúthien’s death to drive those thoughts out, once and for all. Since then, Elmo knows how devastating an uncle’s grief can be, and also… seeing his brother live through the same loss he has lived through has rather changed his view on Elu’s actions. By all accounts, Elu has risked his life to kneel by Galadhon’s side amidst a raging battle, to ensure that Galadhon is not alone, and for that, Elmo truly is grateful. After all, it means that his boy has spent his final moments comforted by one whom he has dearly loved and admired.

Yet Elmo still cannot bring himself to thank Elu for it, or indeed openly tell him that he does not blame him, that he has done no wrong in this. The simple words just refuse to cross his lips.

A soft touch to his hand brings him back to the present again, and he looks up only to find Elu gazing at him, his head slightly cocked.

“Are you still with me?” he asks with a smile, and Elmo returns it, nodding.

He will not tell his brother what has just gone through his mind, but he shuffles closer to him and lays his head upon his shoulder nonetheless. If he still knows Elu, this will answer more than a thousand words might. And indeed, Elu puts his arm around Elmo’s shoulders as well, and holds him close.

“So this is what we are doing? Still?”

And when Elmo does not answer, he adds:

“You always cuddled. It was quite nice to always have a warm elfling snuggled at my side.”

There is a hint of laughter in his voice that still not altogether hides the melancholy, and Elmo nods without looking up.

“I was terrified you would leave again. And… I was terrified to see you sleep.”

“Aye. I think you still remembered seeing our father lying dead, even though your conscious mind chose not to. Of course you were scared.” Elu replies gently.

Now, Elmo is not overly fond of being spoken to like he is still a frightened little elfling, but today, this is exactly what he needs. Today it tells him that despite all that has befallen, his brother is still his brother.

“It helped, you know. That you would let me sleep with my head on your chest so that I could feel you breathing and hear your heart beating. It was the only way I could possibly find rest.”

This time it is Elu who nods wordlessly. There is no need to elaborate further, either, about all the hardships of their youth, nor the ways they have found to deal with them.

“We did alright in the end, did we not?” Elmo sighs at last.

“One could say so, yes.”

They laps back into silence, leaning against each other. The sun has passed its zenith now, travelling again towards the western ocean, making the shadows of the trees lengthen on the mirror-like surface of the lake. Here, by the lake they have once called their retreat, they have always been just brothers, with no royal duties coming between them. Here, they have talked about their experiences and uncertainties as fathers, about what they imagined Olwë’s life to be like, about their deepest worries and regrets and their love-lives alike. Here, Elu is not Elmo’s sovereign but only his elder brother. Not that this makes any difference. If anything, Elmo is more fiercely loyal to his brother than he is to his king.

But all that belongs to a time before Morgoth has decided to take a liking to Beleriand, before he has brought war to their lands and with said war the death of Galadhon. And as beautiful and peaceful as this moment is, Elmo still senses in the depths of his heart that it is but a goodbye, a final farewell before all the world falls into a new, more terrifying darkness.

He thought they could withstand it, once, that they might survive in their little blessed realm under Melian’s protection. Not anymore, though. Not since Elu has invited doom into Doriath.

As if his brother has read Elmo’s thoughts, he reaches beneath his tunic and withdraws the Silmaril that he has carried against his chest, his slender fingers almost caressing the jewel. It is a sickening sight that makes anger rise in Elmo’s chest, together with a desire to seize the gem and cast it far far away.

“Did you have to bring that thing here?” he asks, annoyed. “Can you not let it rest for one day?”

“No.” Elu answers simply.

“And there was I, thinking that I meant more to you than your stupid jewel.”

Even as he says it, Elmo realises how childish that sounded, but he does not care- it feels like a betrayal, almost.

“I am sorry.” Elu says evenly.

“I do not want you to be sorry, I want you to get that damned thing away from us. From all of us.”

A deep sigh shakes Elu’s chest.

“If only it were that easy, Elmo. I know you despise me for it, and rightly so. But please do not assume that this gem could ever be more valuable to me than you, or another living breathing thing.”

“No?”

“No. It was laughable, really. Brideprice. Every time I think of it I want to fling this gem off me. As if anything in the world could…”

He breaks off, which Elmo takes advantage of, before his brother can lose himself again in assurances that he has not truly meant Beren to bring him the Silmaril in exchange for Lúthien. Whatever Elmo has accused Elu of in these past years, that much has always been clear.

“And yet you do not.”

Elu gazes into space for a while, then sighs again.

“No. Indeed I do not. Because this gem is also the reminder of what Lúthien and Beren did. What they achieved, and I shall not lie and claim that I am not proud of her, of them. And there is so much more. This is the light also that… that you should have lived in. We all. It is a light that is now gone, as is Finwë with whom I first saw it, and how many others. It is the light in which Olwë lived for so long. You know, maybe it would not be so bad if I could hope to see it once more. But I cannot. The Trees are slain, and in the Silmarils now lies the only remembrance of their beauty.”

Were the situation not so dire, and the topic so grave, Elmo might have smiled. It has been long since he has heard Elu talk about anything with such passion and also… it is good to know that he has reasons behind wanting to keep the Silmaril, that his refusal to let it pass to Fëanor’s sons is not greed or spite. At least not just greed and spite.

Still, the situation is dire, and Elmo knows that this is perhaps his only chance to really reach Elu, so he argues some more, saying:

“Was it not the light in Melian’s eyes that was for so long enough to appease your longing for Valinor? Is your wife no longer…”

“Don’t. I love you, Elmo, but if you are to finish that sentence, I shall have to punch you.”

Elu speaks those words calmly, his tone betraying neither anger nor amusement, and yet Elmo knows at once that this time, he has severely overstepped. Slights on his own person Elu bears stoically and always has done, but anything touches Melian -or his relationship with her- he will still not take. It might be worth it, though, pushing Elu over the edge, Elmo thinks savagely.

“You might have to punch me, then. Because you are not treating your Queen with he respects and love she deserves at the moment, and someone needs to tell you that.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I… of course holding the Silmaril has done nothing to dampen my love for Melian. That is precisely why gazing into this light holds so much comfort for me. Because it makes me think of Melian as much as Lúthien and Finwë and Olwë. But this thing I have not hurt. This thing I did not rob of the dearest.”

“And still you hurt her further. She fears for you, Elu, don’t you see?”

“Yes. And we both know she fears rightly. I brought the curse upon myself. I will die, sooner or later, it is as simple as that. But seeing that doom has until now not come for Fëanor’s sons, I am as yet not too concerned, and also, if I am completely honest with you, I have little hope for any of us, with or without the Doom of Mandos. I cannot imagine Morgoth leaving Beleriand and letting us go back to living our lives, can you?”

An ancient fear creeps upon Elmo, chilling his heart, so that all of a sudden, the warm summer sun does no longer reach him. Elu has spoken without the slightest trace of fear in his voice, indeed without any indication that he has been talking about any graver topic than tomorrow’s weather, and yet Elmo feels sickened. In this instant, he is again the small helpless elfling that clings to his brother for comfort, more, whose brother is his whole world, who is terrified to see said brother sleep, always fearing he might in truth be dead and leave him, like their parents have left him.

“Then let it go. Let the curse go.” he pleads desperately.

Elu only chuckles, and Elmo wants to hit him for it.

“I do not think the curse works like that, Elmo. And even if it does, I cannot. I am sorry. I cannot let it go.”

He rises, walking a few steps to the very edge of the water, the Silmaril still gleaming brightly in his hand. Slowly, the dread feeling is subsiding, so that Elmo can now wholly take in the situation, and for the first time hear the resignation behind Elu’s words.

He has given up.

Elu stands in the bright light of the day in his finely embroidered robes, his silver circlet gleaming on his brow, the epiphany of the mighty elvenking he is, so fair, so graceful, with the wind playing in his hair, an image that inspires awe even in Elmo who has seen him in his least dignified moments. And yet he is nothing anymore but an actor, playing the role he has so long held, perhaps fooling even himself. Beneath all the majesty and glory, his brother is a broken man, frightened and hurting, and phrases like “will you not let it go even for me, or for Melian?” die in Elmo’s throat. He rises instead in silence to stand beside Elu once more, looking over the lake together with him. It is a while ere Elu speaks again.

“Besides, it is not really true that Melian wants the Silmaril gone. I mean, yes, she does, but to her the light is just as much a reminder of the home she once left behind, a home that is now lost to her just as much as it is to me.”

Elmo nods, little though he wants to. But there is no denying the truth behind Elu’s words, as there is no averting what is to come. He can do nothing but wait and watch until fate brings his brother to his knees- all he can do is to decide whether he wants to spend the time they still have until then arguing or trying to ease Elu’s pain. Again, his thoughts wander back to where his memory becomes murky, to fear and despair, when nothing but his elder brother’s embrace saved him from the abyss. This time it is Elu who stands by the edge of the precipice, and even if Elmo will ultimately not be able to hinder his fall, he can at least let Elu know that he is loved. He therefore lays his head upon his brother’s shoulder once more, and Elu presses a kiss into his hair and cradles him.

Maybe talking is just not for them, maybe they can both never put their feelings into words properly, maybe those caresses are indeed the only language that works for them. But it does work, and who is there to judge its rightfulness?

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